Our Own Little Mary Sue Project: Sweet Revenge
by konarciq
Summary: Sequel to Fanfic Court. Fed up with the ongoing torturing and killing inspite of the trial, the boys of barracks 2 decide to seek revenge on their own. The problem is that there's no way of touching an author from a different era and universe. Or... is there?
1. Carter is a genius, as usual

_A sequel to Fanfic Court, written and published with the consent of its original author._

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Our Own Little Mary Sue Project:

**Sweet Revenge**

(by _Theboysofbarrackstwo_)

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"I can´t believe it!" Newkirk muttered as he butted his cigarette. "You´d think they´d bloody well calm down now that they´re on trial, afraid of the consequences. But no, the ladies decide to throw in some extra torture and killing, just to _get_ on trial! They´re bloody well _enjoying_ it!"

Kinch closed down the computer. "Well, it´s obvious. They want to be in the spotlight. Don´t we all," he observed. "And apparently they have no qualms about how to get there."

"Yeah, but do you need to kill someone to get into the spotlights? There are better ways for that! More decent, humane ways!" LeBeau huffed.

"It ain´t fair," Carter sulked. "I thought that trial was to teach them a lesson. And instead they get worse!"

Hogan agreed. "It´s backfiring big time. I, too, thought a serious trial would get them in line. But it seems it´s not working as we had planned."

"Well, we can´t let them continue," LeBeau declared. "We can´t let them torture you over and over again. If I ever get my hands on them, I´ll kill them myself!"

Hogan sniggered. "LeBeau, the worst of those torturers are _women_. Are you sure you could do a thing like that to a woman?"

LeBeau gulped. "Well, then perhaps I´d teach them a lesson some other way. But _female_ torturers…! It´s not natural. They need to be brought in line. Une femme should be soft and beautiful and seductive. Not sadistic!"

"If you ever get your hands on them, that is," Baker damped him.

"You know what the problem is?" Newkirk observed from his bunk. "Those ladies simply have too much time on their hands. They should dedicate themselves to housework instead."

Kinch nodded. "I had a look around in the court´s kitchen when I went to get a glass of water. Boy, they have machines for _everything_! A dishwasher for example. You just place the dirty dishes and pots and pans in a rack, add soap, close the door and press a button. And an hour or so later everything is clean!"

Carter´s eyes shone. "Boy, that´s cool! How do they do that?"

Kinch shrugged. "Don´t know. But I doubt whether it comes out really clean that way."

"And they have laundry machines as well," Newkirk added. "And drying machines to dry the laundry."

"And a machine to peel potatoes," LeBeau remembered. "And they freeze their meals in an electric freezer, and then heat them up steaming hot in some kind of magic oven. Within ten minutes no less!"

"Oh, they had lots of goodies in that kitchen," Kinch snickered. "An electrical mixer, and an electrical can-opener, and an electrical knife…"

"I heard someone mention an electrical blanket," Baker said.

Hogan shuddered. "Must be a new torturing device. I sincerely hope they´ll spare _me_ the experience."

"I heard they iron their clothes with an electrically heated flat-iron, too," Garth sighed as he heated his on the stove for the umpteenth time. "That is, if their clothes need ironing at all."

"That´s because they threw out the good sturdy stove," LeBeau declared. "Since they had everything else electrical, they couldn´t very well leave out electrical heating, could they? And they cook electrical as well."

"Well, I wouldn´t mind the heating they had in that courtroom," Carter objected. "I hadn´t been so snug and warm all through since I was drafted!"

"But don´t you see what the problem is?" Newkirk reminded them. "With all those ruddy machines, there´s nothing left for them to do around the house. So they get bored, and they start to write _us_ to the end of our tether!"

"Well, I understand most women have a job in that era," Kinch pointed out. "So they can´t be that bored."

"But they only have one or two kids. Piece of soufflé. It´s not natural," LeBeau declared.

"Still, I say they have too much time on their hands," Newkirk insisted. "What happened to Monday Laundry-Day, or Tuesday Ironing-Day? Or Friday Cleaning-Day? (1) Clearly, women have to be kept busy. Otherwise they start abusing their men. Or us – if they don´t dare to take on their own."

"Well, we have a lot of time on our hands, too," Carter objected. "And _we_ don´t make up all kinds of horror-stories about people, do we?"

It couldn´t have gone quieter if someone had pressed ´mute´ on the remote control.

Carter looked uncomfortably around as a tiny smile crept into Hogan´s face, mirrored on the faces of the others. "What? What did I say?" Carter inquired uneasily.

"Carter, my boy…" Hogan´s tiny smile grew into a grin from ear to ear as he slapped the young sergeant on the shoulder. "You´re a genius."

Carter gulped. "I am?"

"Yes, you are. Who says we can´t write our own fanfiction?"

"And just like in those Mary Sue experiments, we can have them drop in on us." Kinch did his best to look grave, but he failed miserably.

"But this time _we_ are the ones determining what´s happening!" Newkirk added brightly.

And LeBeau rubbed his hands in anticipatory pleasure. "Serves them right! We can let all kinds of nasty things happen to them."

"And there´ll be nothing they can do about it, since _we_ are the authors." Hogan had a mischievous grin. "All they can do is sweat out whatever we come up with. Just like they usually do to us."

Carter had caught on by now. "I´ll design my greatest bomb!"

"No." Hogan shook his head. "No killing. And no torturing either. Please let´s not make the mistake of retaliating violence with more violence; we´ve had more than enough of that in this blasted war. No, let´s show them what **Hogan´s Heroes** _really_ stand for. Our reprisals for their violence will be humorous. And I know just the way to accomplish that!"

* * *

(1) I don´t know if it was the same in the States, but at least from around 1900 until the early sixties, this was the general weekly schedule for the Dutch housewife, followed by practically EVERY housewife in the country at the time.


	2. Whether they want to or not

A/N: sorry it took a while to update; I had to get permission here and there :-) I´ll try to update as regularly as I can, but unfortunately I can´t promise it to be really regularly. With no internet at home (yet), and work consuming a lot of time... But I´ll do my best!

* * *

By the time Hogan got back with the brand-new notebook he had coaxed out of Helga, the guys had made up a long list of authors they figured needed to be brought in line for abusing them. A very long list. And far too long according to Hogan.

"Hey guys, don´t exaggerate now. We only need to set an example. And besides, if we were to write a story with so many Mary Sues, no one will be able to keep them straight anymore. Least of all we. So let´s limit ourselves to the worst ones, shall we?"

He sat down, took their list and crossed out most of the names.

"But that one had Kinch killed!" Carter protested.

"And that one inflicted me with that horrible appendix problem!" LeBeau objected. "You can´t mean that was peanuts?!"

"No, the colonel is right." Kinch sighed. "Imagine if we´d have dozens of them walking around here!" LeBeau had an evil grin at the thought, but Kinch continued: "We have to make sure _we _keep the upper hand."

"There." Hogan put down his pencil. Among all the crossed out names, three names jumped out. Glaringly. Accusingly. The main culprits of their suffering.

"Yeah, those are about the worst," Newkirk admitted.

But at the bottom of the list, Hogan had added a name as well, Kinch noticed. He looked at the colonel with a silent question in his eyes.

Hogan sighed. "It´s not just us, you know. This Eva has been extravagantly cruel on Klink. I reckon she needs a lesson, too."

LeBeau´s jaw dropped. "You mean you want to punish her for torturing _Klink_? Sacré chat, why?"

"Well…" Hogan hesitated, feeling a bit awkward about it himself. "The Klink _we_ know can´t even kill a mosquito. So there´s no call for her to nearly torture him to death, over and over again. He may not be the cleverest of men, but he´s not _that_ bad, to deserve such mistreatment."

Well, no matter what their opinion on Klink was, they had to grant that Hogan had a point there.

"Don´t you think we should invite this Robin person, too, then?" Carter proposed. "After all, the way she´s been killing off Hochstetter…" His voice trailed off as he saw the glares of the others. "I mean, I know he can be nasty, but I´ve never seen Hochstetter kill a mosquito either."

Newkirk gave him an exasperated look, but Hogan´s mind was made up. "No. Four will do. And besides, somehow I don´t feel too good about defending Hochstetter. He can take care of himself, whereas Klink…" He didn´t finish the line, but everyone knew what he meant. Klink needed their protection. Hochstetter did not.

"Well, I´m glad that Snooky one is in," Carter remarked. "I´m sure going to give _her_ a piece of my mind! Having me shot, and my tonsils taken out…!"

"She had all of us shot, you fool," LeBeau huffed.

"But the main reason I kept her in was what she did to us during those court sessions," Hogan explained. "I had never experienced anything like it: having us suffer of all the things ever inflicted on us. One after another, or even all at the same time!"

Kinch nodded. "That was plain inhuman."

"Creepy," Baker agreed. "Remember when the colonel had collapsed and they took him up to that space ship?"

"Well, they fixed me up nicely there, didn´t they?" Hogan grinned.

"After having you enter the courtroom as a human wreck," Kinch shuddered. "And to think that she was the one who nominated that Endurance story for the Papa Bear Awards."

"As the best story, of all things!" Newkirk added. "I say you´re right, sir: that calls for a proper reprisal."

"At least the author of that horrid story is going to be here," Kinch added. "That´s one I would like to give a piece of my mind! And a little more, too!"

"And the fourth one…" LeBeau frowned. "That´s the one using the colonel´s name, and has him suffer the most horrible injuries all the time. N´est-ce pas?"

Baker nodded. "That´s her allright. The cheek, using his name, and then…!"

"But how doe we get them here? I mean, they live in another era! In another dimension even!"

"Don´t worry, Carter." Hogan had a mischievous smile. "We´ll go back to our original job: traveller's aide society, remember? We can send them a nice engraved invitation, along the lines of: ´Congratulations! You have won a week´s stay at Stalag 13!´"

Newkirk looked doubtful. "And what if they refuse? After all, they seem to be well acquainted with life in a nazi prison camp. I wouldn´t go here out of my own free will; not for a million quid!"

Hogan´s grin broadened. "You forget my attraction. _And_ your own. Those ladies will jump at the opportunity to get involved with us, I promise you!"

Carter pouted. "Why don´t they ever want me?"

Kinch tried to console him. "Who knows, perhaps one of them will prefer you. Newkirk and the colonel only have one pair of hands each."

"And anyway," Hogan added, "we don´t have to worry about them not wanting to come. Whether they like it or not, they _can´t_ refuse. For _we_ are writing the story!"


	3. Congratulations!

"Kinch, you want to write?" Hogan invited his sergeant.

A big smile from Kinch as he accepted the notebook from Hogan. "Sure. With pleasure."

And as all the men in barracks 2 gathered around the table to take part in their sweet revenge, Kinch sharpened his pencil to meticulous perfection.

"Right. All set. Fire away," he announced when he put down the sharpening-knife.

And off they started, with what might be their craziest scheme yet.

xxx

That afternoon, a Mrs. Groundwater from Australia found a peculiar mail in her inbox.

"_Congratulations!_" it flashed out to her. "_The International Board for Fanfiction is so impressed with your work, that they have decided to reward you with a very special prize: a week's stay at the site where your stories take place. All expenses paid, everything is taken care of. Just bring your own toothbrush, that's all. We will expect you tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. sharp. Welcome to Stalag 13!_"

She raised her eyebrows. "Expect me tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.? Where? At Stalag 13?! I can't even make it over there, unless I charter the Concorde."

She shrugged. "Nonsense. Probably spam." And she pressed the button to delete the message.

A couple of hours later a few American ladies from the East Coast found a similar mail upon starting their work-day with the checking of their inbox. They, too, wondered, shrugged and deleted the message.

Nobody believed it to be true. They could make up the most outrageous events when it came to other people. But never once did it enter their mind that someone else could do exactly the same to them.

However, one of them couldn't resist her curiosity and sent out a message to the forum where the writers often met:

"_Better hold on to my toothbrush tomorrow!_

"_This morning I received a rather peculiar mail. It said I had won a prize for my fanfiction. (Gee, I haven't even written all that much!) It seemed to be pretty official, even though I'm pretty sure it was spam. For the prize I'd have won would be a week's stay at Stalag 13, all expenses paid. All I had to do was to be there at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning and bring my toothbrush._

"_As you can see, it's plain nonsense of course. But I was just wondering: did anyone else get this message, too?_

"_Snooky._"

The replies were many. Some existed solely of those incomprehensible codes that only people form that era seem to understand – nothing like the old Wellington code. Others mused in jest what she'd get herself into when staying at Klink's camp, frequently hinting to the vast possibilities of hot nights when having to share the bunk with Hogan or Newkirk. Or both.

And then there were a few who admitted they'd gotten that very same message that morning.

"_Good! Then at least we can divide the hungry guys among us!_" Snooky sighed with relief.

"_Oh, we could always fight them off with our toothbrushes,_" Linda declared.

"_Well, I'm definitely not going to fight off Colonel Hogan!_" ColHogan announced.

"_LOL,_" from Snooky, "_we never thought you would. Anyway, it's nice fancying what could happen if we'd all go there. Kind of like a new Mary Sue experiment, isn't it? I'm glad I can be in it this time!_"

"_Well, if it is someone writing a story, it's a nice way of letting us know we're part of it,_" Linda observed. "_We might as well hold on to our toothbrush tomorrow morning!_"

xxx

"But, Colonel," Carter pointed out, "if these ladies are all across the US, and even in Australia… then how are we going to collect them all at 7 a.m.? After all, 7 a.m. in California is quite a difference from 7 a.m. in Pennsylvania. Not to mention in Australia."

"They'll be here at _our_ 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. In the story!" Hogan reminded him. "This is fiction, not for real, remember? It doesn't matter; we can do anything we want!"

"More like _science_-fiction if you ask me," Newkirk chuckled. "Oh boy, to see their faces when they discover they're actually here!"


	4. Old friends, new friends

At 6.45 the alarm-clock's incessant beeping woke up Sue. Lazily she hit the snooze button; just a few more minutes and…

It was a cold morning. She'd much rather stay in bed a little longer, instead of going to work. But after the second reminder she sighed and threw off the covers. Better get up and ready; as much as she liked to sleep late, rushing wasn't her hobby either.

A visit to the bathroom, brushing her teeth… She grimaced as she studied herself in the mirror with a mouth full of toothpaste. It was nearly the stroke of seven; well, at least she was holding on to her toothbrush!

She chuckled, and spit out the toothpaste. The silly ideas one could get, thanks to some stupid spam…

She looked up. And grabbed the washing stand to steady her.

Only there was no washing stand.

Across from her sat another woman, in faded beige or green overalls, looking just as dazed as she suspected she looked herself.

"Wh… who are you?" she stammered bewildered.

"My name is Eva." The lady calling herself Eva gulped. "But who are you? Where are we?"

"And what am I doing here? And in these clothes?" another voice piped up.

Sue looked around. Yes, there were more people in the… Yes, they were in the back of a truck. A closed truck. A _driving_ truck.

"I don't know what _you _are doing here, but all _I_ did was brushing my teeth," Sue answered defiantly. "Look, I still got my toothbrush in my hand!"

"I was _not _brushing my teeth," a fourth voice observed calmly. "But suddenly I found myself in this truck as well. _With_ my toothbrush!"

"Oh my…" the other voice said, ending in a snigger. "Has everyone brought a toothbrush?"

Affirmative and astonished answers all around.

"You mean…" Sue started incredulously.

"And did all of you get that mail yesterday that you had won a week's stay at Stalag 13 as reward for your fanfiction?"

The fourth lady – yes, they were all females – suddenly exploded with laughter, and Sue immediately followed suit.

But Eva did not. "I didn't check my mail yesterday. Too busy to keep proper track of it. What was it about?"

They quickly filled her in. "Something about an award from the International Board of Fanfiction or something like that. That they were so impressed by your work that they'd offer you a week's stay at the main site of your stories."

"Which would be Stalag 13," Sue filled in.

"Yes. All expenses paid, just bring your own toothbrush."

"Well, at least we all brought our toothbrushes." The laughing lady in the back did her best to quench her mirth a little. "And I didn't even hold on to it at 7 a.m.!" She looked around. "But are all of you avid authors of Hogan's Heroes fanfiction?"

Everybody nodded.

"Who are _you_ then?"

"I´m Linda."

"Hi. I'm Sue. Also known as Snooky."

An amazed gasp from the other lady in the back. "Sue from Fanfic Court?"

"Yep. That's me."

"Wow! Pleased to meet you! That story was so hilarious! I loved it!"

"And are you by any chance the Linda from Endurance and Best Served Cold then?"

Linda nodded. "Among heaps of other stories, yes."

All of a sudden everyone started to introduce themselves to everybody. It appeared that they were actually all acquainted: through the internet, and through their stories.

There was Eva, the mastermind behind the much acclaimed series Theater of War.

There was Linda, author of many, many Hogan's Heroes fanfics over the years.

There was Denise, under the pseudonym of her hero ColHogan responsible for the series A Life Blown Apart (and quite a few other stories).

And there was Sue, alias Snooky, the most recent arrival, but a very productive one.

"Wow, it's awesome to finally meet you all," Sue sighed as they all settled down again in the moving truck.

"Yes, but what are we doing here?" Eva wanted to know.

Linda stretched out her legs in front of her. "Sit back and enjoy, I suppose. The way I see it, I think we're on our way to Stalag 13."

Sue shuddered.

"But how did we get here?" Eva insisted.

"Yes, that's the puzzle of the month. Unless I'm dreaming, I haven't got a clue." Linda regarded her toothbrush for a moment. "Still, I don't know about you girls, but I intend to enjoy this dream. Imagine: instead of having to go to work, we have a whole camp full of soldiers served to us on a plate!"

Denise grinned. "That's true. I however take the liberty of reserving Hogan."

"Hey, I want him, too!" Sue protested.

"And me!" grinned Linda.

"We'll have to draw lots and take turns," Eva said wryly. "Well, I'm out. I prefer Klink anyway."

They all sniggered.

"By the way, who says we're in Nazi Germany?" Sue put in.

Maybe she shouldn't have said that. For instantly the truck jerked to a halt. They heard a car door slam, choleric steps passing on the other side of the canvas…

"Let's flee," Denise suggested, and she already got up. "Let's flee, before it's too late."

It _was_ too late.


	5. Name, rank and Visacard number

"Na, raus mit euch. Mach schnell!"

Denise froze. Eva stiffened. Sue paled. They all knew that snarling voice. They were all well acquainted with the nasty sound. And no matter how they could ridicule him in their stories sometimes, it was a sound that instantly gave you the creeps.

Except the ever optimistic Linda.

"G'day major! How's it going?" She jumped out of the back of the truck, only just missing Hochstetter´s toes.

"Paah! You may as well quit your pleasantries. Zere's no room for zat nonsense in ze glorious Zird Reich! Eizer you do as you are told, or…" His face took on a pleased, thoroughly smug expression. "You die."

Sue shuddered and tried to hide behind the others.

"Gee, thanks for the friendly welcome," Linda gave back.

Hochstetter glared at her, but then he moved his Luger to get the other hovering ladies out.

Linda cast a quick glance around. They were definitely in some kind of Nazi prison-camp: the bare wooden barracks, the guard-towers with their machine-guns, the bright red flag with the black cross and the black swastika flying in the chilly wind, the double set of three meter high barbed wire around the perimeter, patrolled by armed guards in Luftwaffe uniform… And beyond, nothing but thick foliage in which a muddy track seemed to lose itself.

The barren compound lay deserted, too, save for a dozen or so shivering guards. Clearly the prisoners preferred to stay inside with these temperatures.

Could it really be Stalag 13?

There was no way to tell. Not yet.

One by one the other ladies had jumped out of the truck.

"Come on," Denise told the others. "If indeed this is Stalag 13, it can't be that bad."

"And it's just a dream, remember?" Linda reminded them. "How else could we all be here? So enjoy! Instead of our usual work-routine, we're living a first-class adventure!"

Sue sighed. "Allright then. Although…"

"Silence!" major Hochstetter shrieked.

They stiffened, and automatically straightened up in a line.

"And remember," Eva warned the others under her breath, "when they interrogate you, just name, rank and serial number."

"I don't have a serial number," Sue whispered back.

"Take your ffnet-IDnumber then, if you know it by heart."

"I don't."

"Your social security number then. Whatever."

"Or your Visa card-number."

"My Visa card? Are you crazy?!"

Chuckles all around, but once more the Gestapo major shrieked for silence.

"Na, move it!" he ordered. "To ze Kommandant's office, schnell!"

Eva brightened instantly, but a familiar voice interrupted their march across the cold compound before it had even started.

"Major Hochstetter!"

"What!"

And there came Sergeant Schultz waddling towards them, the butt of his rifle dragging behind him through the dirt.

"We're in Stalag 13 allright!" Denise whispered in excitement. "Oh, I wonder when I'm going to meet Colonel Hogan!"

Schultz had finally reached them. And ignoring Hochstetter's glare, he happily took in the ladies´ curves while catching his breath.

"What!" Hochstetter spat again.

With a jerk, Schultz came back to reality. "Major Hochstetter, I beg your pardon, but…" He gulped. "What are these ladies doing here?"

"Zey are my prisoners. Now out of ze way!"

"B-b-b-but major!" Schultz's voice shot up an octave, astonished as he was at his own bravery to contradict a Gestapo officer.

"What!" Hochstetter again.

Schultz looked rather panicky. "This is an all-male camp! You can't bring female prisoners here! We cannot possibly guarantee their safety, with so many hungry young men around!"

Hochstetter´s evil smirk made the four prisoners stand closer together almost involuntarily.

"Zat is exactly why I brought zem here, sergeant," he said as his fingers leisurely played with the other gun in his belt. "Zat good-for-noffing Kommandant of yours will not be able to handle an extraordinary situation such as zis. And zat will finally bring me his head on a plate!"

The four ladies shuddered; were they really to be used in one of Hochstetter´s evil schemes?

"Now out of ze way, sergeant. I want zese prisoners locked up in ze cooler. And good! Understood?"

Schultz hastily saluted. "J-j-jawohl, Herr major."

"You have ze key to ze cooler?"

"J-jawohl, Herr major."

"Gut. Zen lead ze way. I will make sure zey are locked up tight."

And off they went, towards the cooler this time.

"Sergeant Schultz," Eva tried, "aren't we supposed to go to the Kommandant first? Does he know that we're here?"

Schultz shook his head. "I know nothing. And neither does he."

"I wonder where Colonel Hogan is," Denise muttered. "Why hasn't he shown up by now to save us from this creep?"

Hochstetter´s answer was to turn the key in the lock. And to turn off the lights.

"I'm sorry, ladies," Schultz mumbled before he followed the Gestapo man outside.

****

LeBeau rubbed his hands. "Better start sweating, Mesdames! I have the most wonderful experiences in mind for you!"

"That Chinese water torture you're always talking about?" Carter inquired.

"No. _French_ water torture. That's much more effective," the little Frenchman assured him.

"I for once would like to have them taste for themselves what they put us through," Newkirk cut in.

Olsen grinned. "You mean shoot them right away?"

Newkirk cocked his head. "It's a thought, yes. I was more thinking along the lines of draw-and-quartering them. It's so delightfully medieval. But very effective!"

LeBeau paled. "And messy."

"It would be easier to electrocute them," Carter pointed out. "That's not causing such a mess: at least they get to stay in one piece. Actually, it's pretty easy to set up: all you have to do is…"

Newkirk pushed down Carter's cap over his eyes. "No thanks, mate. With you in charge, we'd end up electrocuting ourselves right along with them. And what would happen to Hogan's Heroes then, hey?"

"Just hanging them is easier," Baker added his two cents.

But: "Hold it, guys," came it from Hogan. "Now we're getting as bad as they are. I said we're going to do a _humorous_ revenge, remember? To show them what Hogan's Heroes really stand for."

The men looked broodingly at each other.

"But mon Colonel, can't we pay them back a _little_ bit for all the suffering they've caused us? Just un pétit peut? After all, they deserve it. And we'll have to wait and see what the court decides. Hard as it is to believe, it's far from certain that they will be convicted."

Hogan shook his head. "No. Not the way you guys are planning it now. Of course we can let them sweat; I mean, I don't see any harm in paying back _a little_ of what they put us through. But not by killing or torturing them." He looked around at the faces looking up to him from around the table. "Remember I said we can do anything we want, because it's just fiction?"

Most of the men nodded.

"That means we have the power to torture or kill them. Anyway we like, for we are the authors." Hogan looked grave. "But _having_ the power does not mean having the _right_! We are all too well acquainted with the mysterious fact that things people write about us become reality in our lives. So let's not subject our little Mary Sue's to that, shall we? After all, they are women!"

Newkirk snickered. "Women! I can imagine some very interesting ways of torturing women."

Kinch cleared his throat. "I think I'm with the Colonel on this one. Freedom of expression is one thing. But it's a freedom with limits."

Hogan nodded. "When you're deliberately hurting other people by exercising your freedom, then you're crossing the line. And we know by experience that written stories about torture etcetera somehow come true in the character's lives. So we can't do that. It's that simple. We'll stick to other kinds of torture. Is that clear? There are more than enough possibilities."

Nods all around, though some seemed rather unwilling.

"Allright. Then let's get back to the story." He pulled over the notebook. "Now where were we?"


	6. How not to use a toothbrush

Suddenly the door of the office flew open.

"Klink!" Hochstetter growled.

Kommandant Klink jumped up in surprise. "What?! Oh, er… major Hochstetter! How very nice to see you!"

Hochstetter entered with ridiculously long strides for his length. "Klink!" he growled. "I will be away on business for a few days. And I have four prisoners locked in your cooler."

"Four prisoners, major?" Klink whinnied nervously. "In my cooler? Now if I may say so…"

"You may not!" Hochstetter snarled. "These four females are social security prisoners. Spies! They are a hazard to the Third Reich. So I want them kept under lock and key until I return from Berlin. Is that understood?"

Klink's head bobbed up and down. "Under lock and key. Yes, major, understood."

"And…" The major's voice held a disdainful, threatening note now, "do you think you can handle this assignment, Klink?"

Klink straightened and puffed out his chest. "Of course, major. You can rest at ease; no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13."

Major Hochstetter spat on the floor. "Paah! Males, yes. But females are a different kettle of fish, _colonel_. You better keep a close eye on them, or you'll find yourself picking icicles out of your hair before this week is over!"

Naturally, Klink shrank away under that threat, and Hochstetter stomped out of the room with a triumphant 'Heil Hitler'.

And Klink sank down in his chair, moaning. "Why do they always have to pick my camp?"

****

"Well, here we are," Linda said happily as Schultz shuffled away in the dark corridor. She looked around the bare concrete walls with interested curiosity.

Eva raised her eyebrows. "What was it you said? 'Sit back and enjoy'?"

Linda sighed. "Okay, so I didn't expect them to throw us in the cooler right away."

"And we haven't even seen the Colonel yet!" Denise complained.

"Oh, cheer up." Sue did her best to follow Linda's cheerful lead. "Remember Newkirk and LeBeau digging a tunnel in twenty minutes once they discovered three girls being held in another barrack? They'll be here soon enough. I bet they saw everything through their periscope in the water barrel. Considering how deserted the compound was, they were probably confined to the barracks."

"For us." Denise chuckled. "Come to think of it: why not help ourselves? Perhaps this is one of the cells that has an exit to the tunnels?"

It was worth a try.

So they examined the rough concrete floor inch by inch, as well as the walls…

"I've got it!" Sue cried out.

Indeed: it was hard to see in the vague light of the cell, but it seemed a square door of some two foot high was discernable in the thick wall.

"Let's try it," Linda ordered.

But try as they might, all they ended up with were scraped fingers and broken nails. The door would not budge.

"Try and wedge a toothbrush in between," Sue suggested at last.

But none of their toothbrushes was tapering enough to fit in the crack.

"I suppose it can only be opened from the other side," Eva concluded, and she sank down on the hard plank bed.

Linda and Denise were not ready to give up so easily, but after half an hour more, without even having moved the door for one millimetre, they decided Eva was probably right.

Now all they could do was wait. Wait for their heroes to come to their rescue – or wait for their fiends to come and… what?

Nobody knew.

And with nothing to do but wait, and nothing to hold onto save for a toothbrush, the future seemed to be terribly bleak.

****

"Colonel, it's girls!" LeBeau jubilated as the men watched the arrival through a crack in the door.

Immediately all the men of barracks 2 crowded around them, eager to get a glimpse of that rare species of mankind in this neck of the woods.

But: "I wouldn't get too excited, Louis," came Kinch's dampening voice. "They look pretty old to me."

"Not exactly my standard either," Newkirk had to agree. "But they'll do anyway. Beggars can't be choosers, you know."

"Well, there's still four of them. So we do have _something_ to choose," Carter pointed out.

"What do you think they're doing here, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan had a shrug. "No idea. So let's find out."

"I can find out in which cell they are." LeBeau beamed. "I'll go take a look right away."

"No, LeBeau. Wait. I'll see what I can find out from Hochstetter and Klink first." He opened the door. "Make that: from Klink," he corrected as he saw Hochstetter pacing from the office to his truck.

Hogan waited a moment until Hochstetter's truck had disappeared out of sight. Then he quickly crossed the compound and entered the office.

"Hello dear. Is the Kommandant in?"

Helga's pretty face lit up in a smile. "Yes, he is here."

A quick kiss on her forehead, and on he went into the inner office.

"Hogan, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be confined to the barracks!"

"Sorry. I forgot." A disarming grin. "When I saw those ladies being brought in… Well, you know what it's like."

Klink sighed wearily. "No, I _don't_ know what it's like. All I know is that you are disobeying your orders. Now please go away and let me do my work."

"But Kommandant, what are those ladies doing here? Are they Hochstetter's prisoners?"

"That's none of your business, Hogan. Besides, they'll only be here for a week or so. Safe and sound in the cooler, so you've got nothing to worry about."

Hogan straightened with indignation. "Nothing to worry about, you say?! Kommandant, according to the Geneva Convention the senior POW officer must be present at all interrogations!"

"They have not been interrogated here. They're major Hochstetter's prisoners; not mine. I'm just minding them for a few days."

"Well, at least the Geneva Convention states that I'm entitled to see them. And I'd like to. Right away, if you please."

"It does not please me. They're not prisoners of war, so the Geneva Convention does not apply. Dismissed, Hogan."

Klink bent down over his paperwork again, and Hogan expertly filched a few cigars from the humidor.

"But if they're not prisoners of war, what kind of prisoners are they?" he inquired innocently.

"I don't know," Klink answered distractedly. "Major Hochstetter said something about them being a hazard to the Third Reich."

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "Ladies? Middle-aged ladies?! Young and beautiful girls, perhaps, but these women can't be that tempting to a soldier, can they?"

Klink looked up. "I'm glad you see it that way, Colonel Casanova. That'll save me a whole lot of trouble, I'm sure."

Hogan had a mischievous grin. "Sorry. Can't promise you _that_. Beggars can't be choosers, you know, when there's so little womenfolk around."

With that, he did a sloppy salute and walked out of the door.


	7. Oh my, what will the Colonel say?

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I hope you ladies enjoyed the opportunity of getting to know each other so well ;-)

* * *

The men instantly crowded around him as he entered the barracks again.

"What did you find out? Who are they? Did you get to see them? What did the Kommandant say? Are they German? Or from our side? Why are they kept in the cooler? Shall we go and get them?"

Hogan raised his hands in defence. "Hold it, hold it!"

"Well, you can´t blame a guy for being curious, can you?" Newkirk smirked.

"So what did you find out, mon Colonel?"

"Not that much. Apparently they are Hochstetter´s prisoners because they´re a hazard to the Third Reich. But I say any hazard to the Third Reich is our ally, don´t you think?"

Newkirk nodded vigorously. "Especially if it´s birds."

"Old birds," Kinch reminded him.

"I don´t care. Now governor, are we going to get them out?"

"Sure. At least I want to find out who they are and why they´re considered to be hazardous."

All the men rushed instantly over to the bunk that served as the entrance to the tunnel. There was a lot of pushing and pulling, eager as they were to be the first to go to the ladies.

"Hold it!" Hogan yelled over the rackass.

Every man fell quiet and turned slowly to face him.

"I think it´s enough when one man goes to check them out. We don´t know for sure: it might as well be some kind of trap." He turned to his second in command. "Kinch, you want to do the honours?"

Kinch looked back at him in mocking reproof. "Gee, thanks, Colonel."

He made his way over to the bunk, and unwillingly the others let him pass.

"But Colonel, I´m French! I _need_ women!" LeBeau pleaded. "Can´t I go with him?"

"No." Hogan looked around the dark faces. "And that´s an order. Understood? We won´t go rushing headlong into things. When Kinch gets back, we´ll decide on our next move."

Muttering among themselves, the men watched Kinch climb down the ladder and disappear into the tunnel.

"This comes under ´cruel and inhuman treatment´," LeBeau grumbled rebelliously.

xxx

"The stone! It´s moving!" Denise clapped her hands in excitement. "I knew it! My dear Colonel wouldn´t leave me to rot in this place! Oh, Robert!" She rushed towards the steadily moving stone, and together they helped pulling the heavy block out of the way. But then...

"Kinch?!" Denise´s face fell. "I thought it would be Colonel Hogan coming to our rescue..."

Kinch hesitated and frowned at her words. "You know me? And the Colonel? How come?"

"We all know about you guys," Linda told him. "We´re among the greatest fans of your show!"

"Our show?!" Kinch´s brow furrowed deeper. How could these ladies possibly know about their operation? Were they from the underground? Or was there a leak somewhere? Were they – as the Colonel had suggested – a Gestapo plant, and were they trying to bluff their way to the truth?

"Yeah, the TV-show Hogan´s Heroes. It was a major hit in its time, and now that it´s out on dvd, there´s a whole new hype started!"

Eva gave her a prod in the ribs. "Stop blabbering, Sue. This is the early forties; he won´t know what a TV is. Let alone a dvd or a hype."

Kinch looked at her with a grave expression. "Oh, I know allright. I take it you ladies are from that computer page with all the stories. The one with the full report on the trial at Fanfic Court."

"Yes, that´s right." Denise smiled. "Now will you please get us out of here? I long to see my Colonel Hogan!"

"_Your_ Colonel Hogan?!" three worried voices – one male, two female – exclaimed.

"Now hold it!" Kinch continued. "First of all you´re not getting out of here yet."

"But it´s cold in here! And damp!" Sue complained.

"I said ´not _yet_´." Kinch sighed. "I have to clear it with the Colonel first. Exactly who are you ladies?"

"Sue, also known as Snooky 9093."

"Denise. Also known as ColHogan."

"Eva Seifert. Also known as TOW."

"And plain old Linda Groundwater."

Kinch gulped. "Groundwater!? You said _Groundwater_!?!" He paled. "Oh my... What will the Colonel say?"

He quickly retreated into the tunnel and pulled the stone in place behind him before anyone could stop him.

"Hey!" Linda called out indignantly. She jumped forward and tried to stop the stone door from falling shut. But it was too late.

Denise fell down on the cot. "Sniff... I wonder if I´ll ever get to see my dear Colonel. Why did you have to scare Kinch like that?"

Linda stood up straight in defence. "I didn´t scare him! I just told him my name!"

Sue sighed in resignation. "Apparently, that was more than enough..."

xxx

"Colonel, you won´t believe this." Those were Kinch´s words when he had climbed up the ladder and swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

"What?" Hogan took a fortifying sip of his coffee as the men crowded around him.

"They´re from that computer page with all the stories about us."

Hogan tensed visibly. "Who?"

Kinch shuddered. "That horrible Groundwater woman is there. And the one who wrote Fanfic Court with all its horrid experiences for us – and had us all shot on top of that. And that stalking ColHogan lady who always gets you into the most terrible accidents. And the fourth one is that lady from Theater of War."

Newkirk whistled. "That wasn´t exactly G-rated stuff either, as I recall."

"No." Hogan sighed. "What are they doing here? And how did they get here?"

"Um..." Kinch looked embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. I was a bit upset. I forgot to ask."

"Never mind. I´ll ask them myself."

"Oh, and that ColHogan-lady is really after you again. I thought I´d better warn you."

Hogan grinned. "Don´t you worry. I can handle her."

LeBeau pushed his way up to the front. "Does that mean they are cleared? Can we go and see them now?"

"No!" Hogan said with emphasis. "But you´ll see them in about half an hour. Kinch, I want you in my office. We´re going to write a nice official letter to Klink that he´ll find in his afternoon mail. You others set up this room as a courtroom. Let the ladies defend themselves in _our_ universe this time!"

* * *

"In _our_ universe?" Carter looked thoroughly puzzled. "And why another trial? I thought we decided to drop the charges for fear that winning the trial would be the end of _us_?"

"Yes, but that was in _their_ ruddy universe," Newkirk reminded him.

"Was it? I thought it was some other TV-program," Kinch argued.

"Whatever." Newkirk waved some smoke in his direction. "But trying and punishing them in our own universe can´t possibly have such disastrous effects on us. So this time we´re going to go through with the trial till the bloody end! Right, governor?"

Hogan grinned from ear to ear. "Right. And I promise you: it´s going to be a _fair_ trial. The nazi way!"

.


	8. Don’t worry, we’ll put them back

Word tends to spread fast in a prison-camp where some thousand young men have little else to do except sewing uniforms, digging tunnels and being bored. Therefore, within fifteen minutes barracks 2 was absolutely packed with curious onlookers. And outside there were still hundreds and hundreds more, trying to catch a glimpse of the not yet started informal court-session in Hogan´s barracks.

But then a big hen showed up. "Back, back back back back! Back, back back back back!"

Reluctantly the men let the corpulent sergeant pass.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz bellowed. "Colonel Hogan, what is going on here? Are you having a garage sale perhaps?"

Hogan fought his way over to Schultz. "No, Schultz. Just a little court-session. But it´s getting a bit cramped in here. Would it be okay if we moved it outside? In the compound?"

"Outside?" Schultz eyed him suspiciously. "What monkey business are you up to _this_ time?"

"Oh, just a routine court-session. Nothing much, really."

"Colonel Hogan, do you think that I am stupid? No." He held out his hands. "Please, do _not_ answer that question. But I would like you to answer this one: if this is just a routine court-session as you say it is, then why do all these prisoners want to attend?"

Hogan motioned him to come closer, and Schultz leaned over with curiosity written all over his face. "It´s girls we´re judging today," he told him in half a whisper.

Schultz looked up, his interest piqued. "Girls?"

"Yeah. And you know what, Schultz? I think you should make an excellent prosecutor!"

"Me? A prosecutor?!" Schultz laughed, a little embarrassed. "Oh no, Colonel Hogan. I´m far too nice a man to prosecute _anybody_. I don´t take sides. I´m completely loyal to _everyone_. You know that."

Hogan sighed. "You´re right, that won´t do for a prosecutor." He feigned thoughtfulness. "But it would be perfect for being the head of the jury! How about it, Schultz: would you like to be head of the jury today?"

Schultz looked as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. "I´d love to! I´ve always wanted to be in a jury. So what are we judging?"

"The ladies major Hochstetter brought in earlier today."

Schultz gulped, and his eyes bulged. "But but but but...!"

"They´re a hazard to the Third Reich, Schultz. The Kommandant said so himself. And any threat to the Third Reich is a threat to _us_, because we are in the heart of the Third Reich, aren´t we?"

"Yes, but..."

"And since we´ve got nothing better to do than twiddling our thumbs anyway, we figured we´d lend you guys a hand and have the conviction over and done with by the time Hochstetter comes back."

Schultz cringed. "Colonel Hogannn... Please! It would be worth my life!"

Hogan sobered. "Mine, too, Schultz. These ladies are a hazard to all of us. They´re among the worst ones who have brought us so much pain, and grief, and suffering..."

Schultz gulped. "They have?"

Hogan nodded gravely. "They´ve been warned before – remember that crazy Fanfic Court?"

Schultz nodded slowly. "Yes..."

"Clearly the warning did not have the desired effect. That´s why these ladies need to be taught a lesson. The hard way. A lesson they won´t forget. And Schultz..."

Schultz waited with apprehension for what was to come.

"You are the absolute nicest guy around here. You will be the perfect head of a jury convicting criminals who continually torture and kill people for fun."

Schultz gulped. Again. "I´m not _that_ nice, Colonel Hogan. I killed Hochstetter once, remember?"

"Don´t worry about that. If _anyone_ deserved it... But I´m to be the judge today, and I say you´re the best man for the job as head of the jury. So if we can just get this table outside?"

xxx

Twenty minutes later the open air court-room was set up in front of the water-tower. Kinch and Baker had set up the loudspeaker-system from the boxing-match, so the whole camp would be able to follow the trial of four of the camp´s most notorious nemesises.

Hogan presided at the table, with a wooden soup-ladle from the mess-hall for a court-hammer. His men were seated around him, and Schultz stood behind them all, to keep watch, as he said.

"Okay." Hogan hammered with the spoon on the table to get the hundreds of POW´s quiet. But Kinch´s piercing whistle had more effect.

"Right. I now pronounce this court-session to be opened. And I kindly request the public to keep their mouth shut. Is that understood?"

A murmur went through the crowd, and as it died down, Hogan asked Schultz: "Head of the jury, can you please bring the first prisoner out here?"

"Of course, Herr Kommandant. Er... I mean, Colonel Hogan." He took a deep breath before bellowing: "Langenscheidt!" over the compound.

The young corporal stumbled forward from among the onlookers. "Jawohl, sergeant?"

"Go and get one of the lady-prisoners from the cooler." Schultz gulped. "Colonel Hogan, we cannot take prisoners out of the _cooler_! That would be the fastest way for me to the Russian front!"

Hogan sighed. "Don´t worry, Schultz. We´ll put them back."

"Oh. Allright." Schultz stood up straight again and repeated his order to Langenscheidt: "Go and get one of the lady-prisoners from the cooler. Now! Schnell!"

Langenscheidt saluted. "Jawohl, sergeant." He hurried away, tripping over his own feet in the process.

He was back within a minute. Without a prisoner. "Er... sergeant?"

Schultz´s eyes bulged. "Have they... escaped?!"

"Er, no, sergeant. But there are four of them. Four prisoners, I mean. Which one do you want me to bring out here?"

Schultz glanced at Hogan. "Any preferences, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan sighed. "Not really. They´re all going to be tried anyway. No, wait! Bring that Groundwater-woman here first. I´ve got a serious bone to pick with that one!"

Langenscheidt saluted. "Jawohl, Colonel. The Groundwater-woman." He turned, looked back once more in puzzlement, and then he hurried back to the cooler.

"I´ll show that lady that I... that _we_ exist allright," Hogan muttered.

And Newkirk added dramatically: "To be or not to be, that is the question."


	9. To be or not to be

A few moments later Langenscheidt returned with the first suspect. She was brought in front of the court-table, and all the men looked at her with a mixture of horror, curiosity and disgust.

"So... Mrs. Linda J. Groundwater," Hogan drawled. He let his eyes wander over her from head to toe. And back. "Hammond, Beauchamp." He looked around for two of his second-string men. "Please assist the good corporal in guarding this dangerous prisoner. We don´t want to take any chances."

Hammond and Beauchamp stepped up beside her, and Linda let out a little laugh. It wasn´t as carefree as she intended though. "Me? A dangerous prisoner? Where on earth did you get that notion?"

Hogan raised one eyebrow. "You are Mrs. Linda J. Groundwater from Australia, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then you may consider yourself to be a _very_ dangerous prisoner indeed."

"Why? What have I done?"

"What have you done!? My good woman!" Hogan got up and came to stand right in front of her – toe to toe actually. "_You_," he said slowly, "are responsible for some of the most horrid torture scenes in the history of Hogan´s Heroes! And torturing _us_ – the good guys, no less!"

Linda shrugged. "Not that old crap again? I told you: I never tortured a soul in my life. All I did was write."

"Yeah! Write until we wish we were all dead," LeBeau commented darkly.

"But when you were confronted with the effects of your fantasies on us, you didn't even show the tiniest little morsel of remorse!" Hogan accused her.

"No, I didn´t." Linda appeared quite calm now. "I already told you: why should I? You don´t exist."

A slight uproar went through the crowd. But Hogan motioned his men to come closer.

"We don´t exist, huh?" Hogan searched her face. "Mrs. Groundwater, at this very moment, can you see me?"

"Um... yes. But I´m sure you´re just a figment of some crazy person´s overactive imagination."

"Can you hear me?" Hogan insisted.

"Yes."

"Can you smell me?"

Linda wrinkled her nose. "How could I not? I´d say you used a little too much of your favourite aftershave, Colonel."

"So you do smell me."

"Yes, I do."

Suddenly he pulled her in his arms and kissed her. Hard. The men whistled. And as he pulled back after a few seconds, he asked cool as a cucumber: "Did you feel me?"

Linda swallowed. "Yes."

"Did you taste me?"

A nod this time.

"Mrs. Groundwater, if all your senses register that I am here – that _we_ are here, right in front of you... Then how can you insist that we don´t exist?"

Linda looked him straight in the eye. "Because you´re characters from a TV-show; that´s why."

"And why should that prove that we don´t exist?"

Linda sighed with exasperation. "Look, we went over all this at that trial. Why do you insist upon chewing it out again?"

"Why are you asking him a question if he doesn´t exist?" Kinch retorted.

And Newkirk dangled a watch and a toothbrush in front of her eyes. "Look what I just filched from you. How can I pick your pockets if I don´t exist?"

Linda snatched her belongings back.

"I can blow you up, if you like," Carter offered. "That ought to give you enough proof that me and my bombs are as real as you are. Magnesium pencils might do the trick. Or otherwise the good old nitroglycerine. Or would you prefer simple dynamite?"

"No, thanks," Linda gave back.

"Are you afraid to try?" LeBeau taunted her. "If you _really_ believe that we don´t exist – and that Carter´s bombs don´t exist – then what harm can possibly come to you if he blows you up here and now? That should prove something, shouldn´t it?"

Linda scowled. "Allright then. Go ahead, blow me up. But I warn you: my revenge _won´t_ be very sweet."

"No." Hogan interfered. "I will not allow this TV-show to condescend to _your_ level of cruelty. We´re a family-show; kids should be able to watch this without getting nightmares from it."

Carter nodded vehemently. "Exactly! And grown-ups, too!"

"And since we are at court, will the jury please take their places again?" He waited a moment, then Hogan turned back to Linda. "Mrs. Groundwater, do you admit that you are responsible for the Germans using cruel and inhuman torture on me and my men, over and over again?"

Linda straightened defiantly. "No, I am not responsible. All I did was write. You guys don´t exist; you´re just fictional characters."

Uproar among the crowd, but Hogan held up his hand. "Jury, how do we punish Mrs. Groundwater? LeBeau?"

"She is to be tortured." Grim with satisfaction.

"Electrocuted." Carter, very solemn.

"Beheaded." Wilson. Calm.

"Drawn..."

"... and quartered." Kinch and Newkirk in an imperturbable duet.

"Hung." Baker, nervous.

"Shot." Olsen, cool.

"_And_ sent to the Russian front." A very passionate Schultz, who then leaned over to her and added: "And believe me, they can do that."

Linda wavered a little. "How?" Her voice was not so sure as before.

But Hogan burst out laughing. "My dear Mrs. Groundwater, this is fiction! We can do anything we want!"

And as the crowd burst out in applause, Newkirk walked over to the involuntarily paling prisoner. "You see, luv, we´re following your very own principles here today. You´re not from our universe, and thus we can simply deny that you exist. Right now, we regard you as a figment of our imagination. Which means we can do with you whatever we want. Isn´t that right?"

xxx

Linda was brought back to the cell ("The same cell?" Langenscheidt asked, and Hogan´s reply: "Yeah. Let them sweat.") and the others rushed to the bars as they saw a livid Linda being returned.

"What happened?" Denise cried out. "Didn´t you get to see the Colonel?"

Langenscheidt opened the cell-door and gently pushed the silent Linda inside. Carefully, Eva led her to the cot and made her sit down. "You want a glass of water? Linda? Linda?!"

Langenscheidt cleared his throat. "Who is Mrs. ColHogan?"

Denise looked up. "That´s me. Langenscheidt, what happened to Linda?"

He shook his head. "You come with me now."

Despite everything, Denise´s eyes lit up. "To the Colonel?"

A nod. "To Colonel Hogan, yes."

Linda looked up. "He kissed me, you know."

Denise scowled. "Well, he´d better save the next dozen for me then." And she skipped ahead of Langenscheidt out of the cooler.

"Wait!" he called after her. "Stop! Halt! Or I´ll _cuff_ you!"

Inside, Sue and Eva turned back to Linda. "What happened?" Sue asked anxiously. "What did they do to you?"

Linda took a trembling breath. "They´re... they´re holding their own trial. The Colonel is the judge."

"And he _kissed_ you?!" Eva was furious. "The monster, the bastard, the creep, the...!"

"Hold it," Sue interrupted her rant. "Let her explain first, before you start calling people names."

Eva glared at her, but decided to hold her tongue for now.

"What kind of trial?" Sue gently inquired. "Like Fanfic Court?"

"Sort of." Linda sighed. "Hogan simply cut right to the heart of the case with that silly notion of his that he and his men – everyone here – do exist. He wanted to prove it. But of course I denied. And then he let his men pronounce the jury´s decision, and they´re going to have me killed. In many unpleasant ways."

Sue gulped. "In _many_ unpleasant ways? How? You can only die once."

Linda looked up. "Sue, this is fiction! And it doesn´t sound like a very cute story to me. Newkirk insisted that they´re following my philosophy on this."

Eva looked rather puzzled. "What philosophy?"

"That they only exist in an imaginary world. They´re not real. That´s why we can have them go through all these horrific experiences: we´re not really hurting them, for they only exist in our imagination."

Sue sat up. "That´s not true, Linda. You saw what happened at the hearing. And at the trial. Our writings really do affect them."

Linda shook her head. "Don´t be daft. That was just something _you_ made up."

Eva sighed. "I wish I had read that story. Then at least I´d know what you girls are talking about."

They sat quiet for a while, digesting the information. But in the end, Sue quietly piped up: "Linda?"

"Yes?"

"Did I just hear you say that the guys are following _your_ philosophy in this?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Oh my..." Sue sank back on the cot.

Eva, too, sharply drew in her breath. "Holy cow...! I didn´t realize..."

"What?" Linda looked exasperated from one to the other.

Sue looked up, her eyes brimming with fear. "Happily having us go through horrific experiences, like torture and executions, because they don´t regard us as real. Just as imaginary people with whom they can do whatever they want. Because according to your philosophy, you can´t hurt imaginary people..."

"But we _are_ real!" Eva protested. Only to continue doubtfully: "Aren´t we?"

* * *

Carter grinned as Kinch wrote those words down. "Boy, we sure got them all riled up now, haven´t we! I can´t wait till we get to the part where they´re going to find out what we´re _really_ going to do with them!"


	10. An Olympic record

_Sorry__ for the delay, ladies: both London and Klink kept us busy!_

* * *

"It´s not fair: I didn´t even get to kiss the Colonel!" Denise complained when Langenscheidt returned her to the cell.

Eva sighed with exasperation. "Is that all you can think about? We´ve got bigger problems on our hands."

"Did they convict you, too?" Linda inquired with a mischievous grin.

"Yes. I'm to be tortured, electrocuted, beheaded, drawn and quartered, hung, shot _and_ sent to the Russian front." Denise counted off the sentences on her fingers; then shook her head in mock dismay. "Boy, they´ve thought up a nice assortment, haven´t they?"

"It´s not funny, Denise." Susan frowned. "Would you like for them to put that sentence into action?"

Behind them, Langenscheidt cleared his throat. "Verzeihung, meine Damen. I must take Frau Snooky outside."

Susan paled. "Me?"

"Jawohl. Yes. Kommen Sie, bitte."

"Good luck," Linda wished her with some sarcasm.

With a last glance back at her friends, Susan followed the German corporal outside. Langenscheidt was mollified by her small appearance, and he gave her a hesitant smile. "Sie brauchen keine Angst zu haben, Frau Snooky. Colonel Hogan is not a bad man. Just a little crazy."

Susan sighed. "Yeah. That´s what worries me..."

They went outside in the bright afternoon-light, and Susan had to blink two, three times to adjust her eyes from the dim cooler to the pale wintersun outside. Then she looked around. There were men as far as the eye could see, and she was guided through the crowd as the people were once led by Moses through the Red Sea. Many of the prisoners regarded her with unguarded masculine interest; it made her feel very uneasy, and she kept close to the apparently friendly German corporal.

And there was the table with Hogan and his men. She felt a jolt of happiness upon meeting them again. Or was it fear?

Langenscheidt guided her to the center of the open circle, and took his place behind her. It felt rather comforting – to say the least – to have the nice guard in between her and the hungry mob.

But Colonel Hogan asked her attention. "Mrs. Snooky."

"Yes?"

"We are here to complete the trial you started in the computer, which we unfortunately had to back out of for fear for our very own existence. But now that we´re safely in our own universe, we can finally get to the bottom of this. Mrs. Snooky, do you or do you not plead guilty of causing me and my men insufferable harm on more than one occasion, as well as having us all shot?"

Susan gulped. But there was no denying: "Yes. But I told you, Colonel: I didn´t _know_ my fantasies had such a disastrous effect on the people I wrote about. But I did say I was sorry, didn´t I?" Tears appeared at the corner of her eyes, just like in the courtroom. Though this time, she wasn´t sure whether they were real ones, or just manipulative ones. After all, they worked pretty well back then, too.

And they did again, for Carter spoke up: "That´s true, Colonel. She did say she was sorry as soon as she found out. And she promised never to do it again, remember?"

Hogan nodded. "That´s all very well, but I do think she needs some kind of punishment. After all, her stupid fantasies caused us a terrible lot of suffering and grief. Remember?"

Olsen shuddered. "I don´t want to think about it. Can we just get this over with?"

"Right. Jury?"

"Tortured."

Silence.

"Your turn, you fool!" LeBeau prodded Carter in the ribs. "Or did you forget your line, as usual?"

"No!" Carter reciprocated. "I don´t _want_ to electrocute her. She´s not that bad. And besides, she should get _some_ reward for being sorry, don´t you think?"

Hogan shrugged. "Wilson?"

"Beheaded."

"Drawn."

"And halved."

Susan gasped. "Newkirk!?"

And Kinch raised an eyebrow at him. "Halved?!"

Newkirk gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry luv. I have to play by the rules. But rest assured that I´ve halved my part of your punishment."

"Well, that´ll be a relief..." Carter muttered under his breath.

"Er, jury, can we continue, please? Baker?"

Baker swallowed hard. "Hung."

"Shot." Olsen already shot her a look that could kill.

"And maybe... send her to the mess hall?" Schultz suggested hopefully. "Boy, I'm getting hungry. Being head of the jury sure works up an appetite!"

Hogan sighed audibly. "Later, Schultz."

At that moment there was some commotion in the crowd: someone was clearly trying to fight his way from barracks 2 to the front. "Colonel Hogan!" a young voice cried out. "Colonel Hogan, wait!"

A few seconds later, young Garth came stumbling out of the crowd, hugging their ´borrowed´ laptop to his chest.

"What is it? More trouble?" Hogan asked with a frown.

"Look!" was all Garth brought out as he pushed the computer in Hogan´s hands.

Hogan opened it; the screen showed him a page of the mal famé fanfiction site. "_Those We Leave Behind_", he read out loud. "By Mrs. Snooky." He looked up. And Susan turned absolutely pallid...

Hogan quickly scanned through the text as he scrolled down, paling a little himself, too. And when he finally looked up, his face was hard, his eyes burning.

And Susan suddenly wished for the ground to open and swallow her. Why, _why _had she not been able to resist the temptation of publishing that story? _Why_ couldn´t she have kept it to herself, instead of craving reviews from her co-authors? Why...? _Why?!_

"What does it say?" LeBeau inquired from behind Hogan.

"It´s a story about our leaving the camp after the liberation." Even his voice was hard. "It´s said to be set in an alternate universe, but now that I read it, I remember it clearly. It has been published a few weeks _after_ Fanfic Court ended. And she has me dying of pneumonia on the way to the airport, while all of you are asleep. Only Wilson is awake – but there´s nothing _he_ can do to save me, either."

A collective gasp went through the crowd, and all of a sudden Susan felt no doubt about the tears running down her cheeks being for real. She was so ashamed...

The effect this news had on the jury was instantly visible as well. LeBeau´s jaw had tightened, and he gave the culprit his darkest glare. Kinch had grown even more serious than usual. Wilson had paled and had to steady himself against the table. Baker´s jaw had dropped in astonishment and he stared at the accused in disbelief. Schultz just stood shaking his head sadly. Newkirk muttered a cockney curse, threw down his cigarette and pointedly turned his back on her. Olsen folded his arms across his chest and kept a steady stare on her, as if he were daring her to meet his eyes. And Carter... young Carter simply couldn´t believe his ears. He stared at her in shock and dismay, and then he started with: "Well, that´s gratitude for _you_, pal! I trusted you! Because back where I come from, a man´s word is as good as his handshake. And that goes for women, too. But to betray us so badly after saying you were sorry...! I really wonder now if you were sorry at all! And you broke your promise, too!" He turned to Hogan. "Colonel, can I change my verdict? I want to punish her, too, now. And she´ll be in for doubles, believe me!"

Newkirk grunted. "Same here, mate. I´ll happily change my verdict to her being drawn and _eighted_."

"Or perhaps sixteened – even better," Carter nodded as LeBeau paled.

"Allright. So it´s tortured, electrocuted, beheaded, drawn and _sixteened_, hung, shot and... Schultz?"

Schultz heaved a deep sigh. "I thought just like Carter: that she was nicer than the others. But now... I'm afraid she needs a trip to the Russian front, too."

Hogan hammered on the table. "That´s settled then. Langenscheidt, take her away and get the last one out here."

But before Corporal Langenscheidt could haul her off, Newkirk stepped up to her. His reproachful look held her eyes like a magnet, and Susan shuddered.

Then he opened his mouth. "I´m terribly disappointed in you, luv. _Terribly_ disappointed."

Susan gulped. Once more she had to fight back her tears. For somehow, this quiet reproach of Newkirk´s stung far deeper than all the cruel and deadly punishments the guys had dreamt up for her.

And as Newkirk stalked back to his mates, all she could do was to bow her head in utter shame.

* * *

Langenscheidt returned to the open air courtroom with a slightly struggling Eva: "I refuse to play this horrid game until someone finally tells me what this is all about!" she protested loudly.

Hogan smirked. "Oh, that´s pretty easy, ma´am. You´re here to be tried for your outrageous torture of mainly Kommandant Klink."

"But I´ve never tortured _anyone_! And least of all the Kommandant! Why would I do such a thing?! I´ve never even met him!"

As the discussion continued, and Hogan explained to her what had transpired during the trial in Fanfic Court, LeBeau commented to Carter: "I do not like this one."

Carter looked at her again. "She´s a bit too old to be a real looker, I suppose," he agreed.

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about _that_; I'm talking about what she has written."

"Oh! Yeah..." Carter looked pensive. "She was the one who made Klink a hero, right?"

A short nod. "And tortured him beyond imagination. Not that the fool deserves anything better, but she also made the Colonel look really bad. And he may not be a saint, but he does not deserve such slaunder. No. I _hate_ her."

Suddenly a new, rather vexed actor enriched the scene: "Schultz! What are you doing here? Colonel Hogan, what on earth is going on here?"

"Oh, just a little trial, sir. Nothing major."

Klink scowled. "Nothing major, you say? You got about the whole camp attending! So why didn´t you invite _me_? I'm an expert in court matters, you know that!"

Hogan shrugged. "Perhaps your invitation got lost in the mail."

"Hmpf." Klink turned to go back to his office, but then he noticed the lady standing next to one of his guards.

A lady?! In the camp?!?

He looked her over from top to toe – the American army overalls didn´t exactly flatter her figure, he decided.

Eva gave him a warm smile in return; warm but grave. "Dear Kommandant Klink, would you please do me the great honour of marrying me?"

Klink´s jaw dropped and he promptly lost his monocle – he caught it out of habit. Then he turned back to Hogan: "And who might this be? Not another one of those ghastly Frau Linkmeyer witches, I hope?"

"No." Hogan grinned. "That´s our last accused for today. Miss Seifert, meet our Kommandant: Colonel Wilhelm Klink. Colonel Klink – Miss Eva Seifert."

Klink stretched out his hand in a polite greeting, but then he froze. "Seifert?" he mumbled. "Fräulein _Eva_ Seifert?!" His eyes grew wide with fear as realization dawned on him. And Eva´s expectant smile for her hero didn´t quite help either: in Klink´s eyes, it was the greedy grin of a wolf, about to bite his head off!

And with a shriek of sheer terror he took off towards his quarters, bellowing for Schultz to report to him, and to Hogan to get rid of his nemesis _immediately_. In fact, he probably broke an Olympic record with this run.

And Hogan grinned at a deflated Eva. "I suppose I´ve made my point?"


	11. Klink’s private Fort Knox

LeBeau sniggered. "Ha ha! Serves her right. Who in their right mind could portray _Klink_ as a dashing hero?!"

"She must really be in love with him then," Carter mused.

"Though I can´t imagine why," Newkirk quipped. "Who could ever fall in love with that pompous old fool? Especially when there are good looking lads like me around, too?"

Kinch prodded him in the ribs. "Oh yeah, Mr. Irresistible. Well, Colonel, what's next? We´re about through with those trials, aren´t we?"

"Yes. I long for a bit of action!" LeBeau chimed in.

Hogan chuckled. "Don´t worry, you´ll get your action. I'd say it´s time to put our real plan in action. Let´s continue with Klink and his mail."

* * *

The trial was over and everything was back to normal: the ladies were safely locked away in the cooler, and the prisoners sauntered around in the compound, heatedly discussing not only the ladies´ defence strategies, but their looks as well. After all, this _is_ an all male prison camp.

Hogan quickly crossed the compound to discuss the afternoon mail with the Kommandant.

But what was that? Half a dozen guards were busy carrying loads of planks to the office, and under Schultz´s supervision they nailed them over the windows!

Hogan quickened his step. "Hey Schultz, what´s going on?"

Schultz turned around. "Colonel Hogan, I am worried. The Kommandant told me to block all the windows and doors, and to barricade the office and put an extensive minefield around it. Do you..." He gulped. "Are perhaps the Allied armies going to liberate the camp today?"

Hogan smiled. "Now how would I know such a thing, Schultz? But let me talk to the Kommandant, and I´ll see what I can find out."

He didn´t wait for Schultz´s approval: in a few steps Hogan was inside. He grabbed the afternoon mail from Helga´s deserted desk, knocked on the door of the inner office and entered once more without waiting for acknowledgement.

He wouldn´t have gotten one anyway: the office was empty.

So Hogan tried Klink´s private quarters: the living-room, the bedroom, the guest quarters, the kitchen...: "Kommandant Klink!"

Nothing. Everything was quiet except for the hammering outside the window.

"Kommandant Klink? Where are you?" Hogan looked around the living-room once again. Under the table, under the divan... "Kommandant Klink!"

Finally: a muffled sound in reply.

"Kommandant, where are you?"

"I'm not telling you!" he heard faintly from the left.

A wicked smile crept onto Hogan´s face. "Oh, I see: we´re playing hide and seek, are we? Nice idea, I love that game! Did you know I used to be the neighbourhood champion in that? Let´s see if I still got the old touch."

"No, I just want you to go away and leave me alone," Klink whined.

It was enough for Hogan to determine where the sound came from, and in two steps he was at the bathroom door and pulled it open.

But it was locked.

"Colonel Klink, why have you locked yourself into the bathroom?"

"Go away," Klink cried. "I don´t want to see _anybody_. And least of all you."

"Kommandant, why are you turning your office into a fortress?"

Klink moaned. "Because of that woman. I don´t want her to get anywhere _near_ me. After all she´s had me go through in her stories, imagine what she´d do to me for real...!"

Hogan couldn´t help a chuckle. "You heard her: she wants to marry you."

"Over my dead body!" Klink announced with sudden fierceness. "Frau Linkmeyer is a an angel compared to her! I think I'd rather volunteer for the Russian front!"

"Shall I call General Burkhalter then, to tell him to ask for his sister´s hand in your name?"

"No! That´s not what I meant!" A touch of horror crept right back into Klink´s vehement voice.

"So what are you going to do then? Hide in your private Fort Knox for a week?"

"Why a week?" Klink inquired suspiciously through the door.

"You told me yourself that Hochstetter was going to pick them up in a week´s time."

The lock turned, and Klink carefully peeped out. "Major Hochstetter? What has _he_ got to do with it? Don´t you think I have enough problems already?"

"More than enough, I'm sure. But whether you like it or not, Hochstetter is part of this particular problem."

"How come?"

"Because the Seifert woman is his prisoner."

"What?!" In his consternation Klink finally pulled the door open. But then something seemed to dawn upon him: "You mean she is one of his social security prisoners?!"

"Exactly. See, I knew you could figure it out!"

But Klink merely groaned. "Why did he have to bring that woman to _my_ camp!?! Of all the places imaginable..."

Hogan shrugged. "Regard it as a vote of confidence if you like."

"Confidence?! Ha! Major Hochstetter wouldn´t trust me from here to the gate! I don´t understand why though – I´ve always been very cooperative with him." He frowned. "Hogan, if that was one of the major´s social security prisoners, then what was she doing out in the compound? They were supposed to stay in the cooler!"

"Oh, we had a bone to pick with them, too. I have no idea where Hochstetter has picked them up, but when we heard from Schultz who was in the cooler, we decided we´d deal with them here and now."

"Them?"

"Yes. All four of them. They´re colleagues of your dear Miss Seifert´s."

"She is not ´my dear Miss Seifert´," Klink retorted. "And I would appreciate it if you would leave prisoners of the Third Reich where _I_ put them."

Hogan´s face split in two by a mock innocent grin. "Oh, but now that we´ve convicted the lot of them, they´re _our_ prisoners, too! Doesn´t that feel even safer, Kommandant?"

"No." Klink started pacing around the darkening room. "By the way, Colonel Hogan, what are you doing here? I gave strict orders not to be disturbed."

"I picked up the mail for you."

Klink snatched it from his hand. "Danke. Dismissed, Hogan."

"But sir, I was hoping... There´s such a beautiful stamp on that first envelope. Could I get it, please? For my nephew; he´s an avid stamp collector. And you can imagine how hard it is to get hold of real Nazi stamps in the US."

Klink raised an eyebrow, but then he gave up. "Oh, allright then." He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a typed sheet. "**A Clean Camp Is a Happy Camp**," he read out loud as he thrusted the envelope in Hogan´s direction. "Dismissed, Colonel Hogan; this is none of your business. And don´t come bothering me again until I send for you."

"Yes sir, no sir." Hogan gave a sloppy salute and turned to leave.

"Hogan, wait."

"And you told me to leave?"

"I know, but this does concern you."

"It does? Oh, of course: a clean camp is a happy camp. I couldn´t agree more. Speaking of which, I _must_ complain about the..."

"Never mind that. I want this camp scrubbed clean from top to bottom by next Wednesday. And I mean _clean_. You better get your men started."

"Why; what did _we_ do?" Hogan asked in angry indignation.

Klink looked up from his letter. "Nothing. I just want this camp sparkling by next Wednesday."

Hogan pulled the letter out of Klink´s hands. "Let me see that. Oh, never mind, I can´t read that blasted gibberish anyway." He thrusted it right back into Klink´s hands. "So what does it say? I'm sure you derived this sudden bout of housekeeping from that letter."

"I did indeed." Klink looked smug. "In order to prove to the Red Cross inspectors that our prisoner of war camps are not lacking in hygiene as has been repeatedly suggested in certain Allied reports, Reichsmarschalk Goering has organized a contest. For the cleanest POW-camp in Germany. And I intend to win that contest of course," he added modestly.

"Over the sweat off _our_ backs," Hogan retorted.

"Yes. Exactly. So I want the compound swept clean and the barbed wire sparkling, the delousing station shining, all the barracks turned inside out, every window washed, every..."

"Kommandant, that´s inhuman! Cleaning is a woman´s job; I protest!"

"Oh, you do, do you now? Well, your protest has been noted. And rejected. I intend to win that contest anyway, so you better get started."

"Fine. But I promise you: we'll never make it before Wednesday. You´ll need a couple of professional charwomen to manage such a job." He snapped his fingers. "Of course! The ladies in the cooler!"

Klink gave him a suspicious look. "What about those ladies in the cooler?"

Hogan sighed with exasperation. "They´re _women_, Kommandant. They´re expert cleaners; it´s in their genes."

"Ah. Yes, of course." Klink´s head bobbed up and down in agreement. "But I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan, I cannot let them out of the cooler. Not even for something as important as this. I can´t risk having them roaming about the camp."

"Why not? What are you afraid of? No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13, right?"

Klink smiled, as always happy with flattery. "That is true, yes."

"And being a ladies´ man myself, I can guarantee that they´ll be trouble – big trouble – if you just leave them in the cooler for a whole week with nothing to occupy their hands with."

Klink stopped pacing and looked up. "They will?"

"Absolutely." Hogan sounded very convincing. Even to his own ears. "Believe me, Kommandant: a woman needs to be kept busy. Otherwise they´re up to all kinds of mischief. Like digging tunnels."

Klink shuddered.

"Or writing us – _you_ as well as us prisoners – into mental and physical wrecks. Is that how you´d like to face Hochstetter next week?"

"No!" Klink stated emphatically. "So what do I do? We can´t let them escape; my record would be ruined!"

"Can´t have _that_," Hogan smiled broadly. "So we'll simply have to keep them busy: sweeping the compound, washing the windows, polishing the barbed wire..."

Klink´s lip trembled. "That Seifert woman, too?"

"Of course! Or would you rather have her stay in the cooler, with nothing better to do than to make up some nice new people to torture you?"

Klink closed his eyes in terror. "No..."

Hogan stifled a chuckle. "Don´t you worry, Kommandant," he reassured Klink. "You just stay right here in Fort Knox, and I´ll take care of the ladies. Keep them busy, I mean," he added quickly as he saw Klink frown. "With cleaning and other household duties. Your camp will be sparkling by next Wednesday; I promise!"

"It better be," Klink sighed, only to continue in a near panic: "But what do I do when she sneaks away and comes over here anyway?"

And Hogan, who had already turned to go, advised him blithely: "You can always pile up the furniture in front of the door."


	12. Rise and shine!

_General warning from the authors: you people out there are getting terribly abusive again. Better watch it, or you might have another trial on your hands! _

* * *

"Rise and shine, ladies!"

Rise and shine? The only response from the cell was some indistinct moaning, and Schultz's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"Newkirk, do you think the ladies are allright?"

"Oh, sure they are. They're probably just not used to roll call at 5.30 in the morning." He took the keys from Schultz's belt and opened the cell door. "Rise and shine, ladies!" he repeated, and went around to shake some life into each of the bumps on the plank bed.

Eyes were opened, one by one, and looked blearily at the living alarm-clock.

"What time is it?" Sue mumbled.

"It is exactly..." Schultz stretched his arm to look at his watch. "Five thirty-two in the morning, plus twelve seconds. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen..."

"Yeah, yeah, Schultz, we get the picture," Linda fended off the rest with a giant yawn.

"Why do we have to get up so early?" Denise inquired.

"Today is the first day of the execution of your sentence," Newkirk happily announced.

Sue shuddered, but Linda huffed: "And for my last wish I'd like to sleep late. You can come and wake me again at eleven."

Schultz sadly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frau Groundwater, but those are my orders. You can have a quick breakfast, but at six o'clock you have to get to work."

Eva sat up. "To work? I thought we were to be killed etcetera!"

A naughty grin from Newkirk. "That was just to retaliate: so you could experience what it's like for us to look death in the face at every turn. But since we're really a comedy-series, we had already decided beforehand that we'd only torture you."

"Gee, that's a relief," Denise muttered, but Schultz asked alarmed: "Torture them? Newkirk! The Kommandant didn't say anything about _torturing_ them! I thought they were just going to clean the camp!"

"They are. That'll be torture enough for them," Newkirk promised.

"What do you mean: clean the camp?" Linda inquired suspiciously.

A wide grin from Newkirk. "You know: sweeping, polishing, peeling potatoes, doing the dishes, the laundry. Etcetera," he concluded with pathos. "This place could do with a good turn-out. And that's something ladies are actually better at than men. So why waste the opportunity, eh?"

"Does Kommandant Klink know about this?" Eva demanded.

Newkirk gave her an odd look. "Of course he does. It was his idea to have the good old Stalag cleaned in the first place."

Even Eva deflated. If both the Kommandant and the prisoners agreed that there was some major cleaning to be done, what were four middle-aged ladies to do against hundreds and hundreds of able-bodied young males?

"Seduce them of course," Denise whispered. "See if we can get out of it. I hate cleaning."

"Me too," Sue admitted. "And I hate peeling potatoes as well."

* * *

After a quick and uncomfortable breakfast – how comfortable can any self-respecting lady feel with so many hungry, undressing eyes guarding them – Colonel Hogan marched into the mess hall. Denise immediately ogled him. But Hogan feigned unawareness of her cow's eyes and addressed the four ladies in a stern tone they had but hardly ever heard him use on TV.

"As you ladies have heard yesterday, this whole camp agrees that you should be severely punished for all the grief, the pain and the horrid experiences you keep make us go through. Yesterday's judgement was just. You deserve it. But as Newkirk told you: we do not wish to execute it. After all, we're a comedy-series, and that's what we'd like to ingrain on you as well."

"By employing us as slaves to clean your precious Stalag?" Eva snapped.

Hogan grinned. "See it as an act of mercy if you will. We could always shoot you, I suppose. But what's fun – or even exciting – about that?"

Nobody knew.

"So," Hogan continued, "today is barracks-day. All the barracks need a good turn-out: floors and windows washed, the ceiling done with a mob, mattresses and blankets beaten, tables and chairs scrubbed, the stove emptied and black-leaded, the stove-pipe cleaned on the inside and outside, the water basins cleaned and polished, and last but not least: everything needs to be dusted off. The barracks' leaders will check your work tonight – with the compulsory white glove of course." He quelched his chuckle as he looked around at the four astounded female faces in front of him. "Any questions, ladies?"

"Eh..." Sue cleared her throat. "Colonel Hogan, how many barracks are there?"

Hogan beamed a triumphant smile. "Oh, around fifty. Fifty-eight, to be exact."

A gasp from Denise. "Help! And we are to clean them all in one day?!"

"Well, try and get as far as you can. We wouldn't want to mess up the rest of your schedule, would we?"

"What schedule?" Eva asked.

"Oh, just laundry-day and darning-day and polishing-day and..."

Denise groaned. "Can't you just shoot me right here and now?"

"Oh, come on, Denise. It'll be fun."

Another groan. "Perhaps if you're as dedicated to housekeeping as you are... But for me?!"

Linda shook her head. "I don't like housework any more than you do. But this is sure to be fun. Remember," she added under her breath, "who you are cleaning for!"

Denise looked up. "Does that make any difference? It's still cleaning!"

"Yes, it does. Now, Colonel Hogan, where can we find the cleaning equipment?"

Suddenly LeBeau popped up behind them. "I'll be happy to show you, ladies. But first... Come along, please."

And as they got up to follow the little corporal, Sue respectfully leaned over to Colonel Hogan and whispered: "Thank you for sparing our lives, Colonel."

Hogan looked down at the little lady and smiled at her. "My pleasure, ma'am."

* * *

They followed LeBeau through a rickety door in the wooden partition. It led to a dark kitchen, with three stoves, a large table and a wobbly sink. And piles and piles of...

"S'il vous plaît?" LeBeau's face was ever so placid, but the gloating chuckle was audible in his voice as the four ladies looked around.

"What is this?" Eva stammered.

"The kitchen," LeBeau answered patiently. "You know – that place where you prepare food. And wash up afterwards."

"But Colonel Hogan said..." Linda started.

And the Frenchman nodded. "You will. Don't worry. But even on major cleaning-days, the dishes have to be washed."

They looked around.

"Fifty-eight times fifteen..." Denise mumbled. "That's an awful lot of plates."

"Don't forget the guards'," LeBeau interjected helpfully.

She glared at him, but he remained unperturbed. "You better get started. Otherwise..." He left the sentence hanging in the air, for the ladies to imagine its ending, and walked out.

And they just stood there, crestfallen. Until: "This is ridiculous!" Denise burst out. "They can't do this to us!"

"Why not?" Linda inquired coolly. "It's just a dream, remember? Anything can happen. Perhaps..." She chuckled. "Perhaps if you wave your magic wand, the dishes will be done and neatly piled up on the shelves in no time."

Eva looked doubtful. "Do you have a magic wand then?"

"Of course not. But since it's a dream, anything would do the trick. This wooden ladle for example." She grabbed the big spoon with still lumps of porridge on it from the sink and waved it around. "Abracadabra, piff poof paff!" she recited dramatically. "I want these dishes clean and scrubbed!" She screwed her eyes shut, not in the least minding the cries of the others as the waving of her magic ladle sent porridge lumps flying all over the kitchen.

Then she carefully opened one eye. "Did it work?"

"No." Crossly, Eva cleaned some cold porridge off her sleeve.

"Hm. Pity. Maybe I should try another formula. Or another wand. What do you think?"

"Maybe we should just get this over and done with," Susan suggested calmly. "By the time you've found the right wand and the right formula we could have cleaned half the camp. Including the dishes."

Linda's eyes lit up. "Excellent! You girls start on the dishes, and I'll keep trying different wands and formulas."

Just as the other three dashed to grab their magic deserter and push her head first down in the dishwater the door was opened and Kinch looked in. He feigned shock: "Ladies, aren't you done yet? Come on, we've got work to do!"

All four of them turned guiltily to face him.

"Sorry Kinch. We'll get to it right away," Sue promised.

"But Kinch!" Denise called before his head had disappeared.

"Yes?"

"Don't you have a dishwasher here?"


	13. That’s what they all say

"Colonel." Young Garth appeared in the doorway to Hogan's office where he had been keeping an eye on the fanfictionsite.

"Yes, Garth?"

The young black swallowed. Hard. "I think you better come and look for yourself, sir."

Hogan let out a sigh. "Allright. I'll be just a minute, guys."

Nevertheless, all his barracks' mates followed him into the cramped little office where their ´borrowed´ computer was set up on Hogan's desk.

"What is it?" Hogan asked.

Garth pointed at the screen. "They're doing it again, sir," he simply said.

Hogan peered closer and read a few titles and descriptions.

"It's _drama_ and _tragedy_ and _angst_ all around, sir. Even this one..." He pointed at a story with the promising title 'To Serve and Protect'. "It started great, sir, even though Kinch got very sick. I thought it was safe, for it says it's about _friendship_ and _suspense_, but..." He couldn't possibly continue as he met Kinch's grave eyes.

"I'm not dead yet, Ben," Kinch pointed out gently. "There's still hope, you know."

"I know." Ben Garth sounded all choked up. "But at the end of the latest chapter, the author – some Dusha – says that she intends to change the real Hogan's Heroes ending she originally had in mind. Change it to something more..." He gulped. "It really sounds like she's gonna let you die."

"Again." Kinch sighed. "Well, I've died before. It's not the best experience I've ever had, but I'll survive."

"Yes, but here's another unfinished story down here where you are left hanging, gravely ill." Hogan prodded at the screen.

"Colonel." Kinch sounded slightly affronted. "If _you_ can survive being shot and tortured and drugged senseless and being deathly ill and I know not what, all mixed up at the same time, don't you think I could survive two illnesses that happen to afflict me at once?"

Hogan gave him a quizzical look. "Allright, allright. No need to get so defensive, Kinch. I know your strength."

"But Garth is right," Newkirk cut in. "Among these latest stories, there's hardly any that seem to have been written in the spirit of our show."

"Yeah. They look terribly dark to me," Carter agreed as his eyes scanned through the titles and descriptions on the first page of the Hogan's Heroes section.

"It's depressing," LeBeau chimed in.

"Yeah. If we can't have a little fun here, I'd rather quit this war," Carter said in what was meant to be a threatening tone.

"We need to teach some more people a lesson, mon Colonel."

Judging by the fierce nods around him, LeBeau's opinion was shared by many of the men present.

"And we need to make it even clearer that we're not as harmless as we may seem," Newkirk added dead serious.

"Yeah. Throw in some _real_ torture. My first class French water torture for example," LeBeau suggested.

"Or just plain shoot them. That way they'll know we mean business. You really are too soft on them, Governor," was Newkirk's opinion.

But Hogan was firm. "No. We must not let ourselves be tempted to descend to their levels of cruelty. On the contrary: this story of ours was meant to show them that it's very possible to write interesting stories _without_ throwing in all those nauseating horrors they tend to treat us with. "

Kinch nodded. "I'm with the Colonel on that."

"Me too." Carter's face was set with determination. "Because, if we retaliate with the same kind of stuff, then they'll just get angrier and angrier and as a consequence they'll let us go through even nastier experiences. Though I cannot possibly imagine what that could be. And then we get even more upset of course, and think of something even more horrible for them, and then they..."

"It's called a vicious circle, Carter," Kinch informed him.

"Yes. Exactly. And then they..."

"I think we should get on with our story." Hogan wisely forestalled Carter's further elaborations of his vicious circle of violence, and led the way back to the common room. "Garth, you keep an eye on those stories, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Hogan saw him gulp. "I know it can be terribly hard sometimes," he reassured the young sergeant quietly. "But try and zone out if you suspect something dreadful to happen. That way it doesn't hit home quite so hard. And don't forget: no matter how horrible our experiences are, we always bounce back."

"Yes sir." Garth blinked. And blinked again. "But that still doesn't make it right that you have to go through it," he whispered.

Hogan gave him an encouraging smile before joining the others at the table in the common room again. "Well, where were we?"

"They were supposed to do the dishes," Kinch recalled. "And they wanted to know if we had a dishwasher."

Newkirk grinned. "Oh yes, we do. Very capable ones. Four of them. And all of them with two legs, two hands, nice feminine curves and a head on top."

* * *

"That's that." Linda dried her hands on her overalls.

"My hands are all soft and wrinkly," Denise complained. "I hate doing the dishes."

"Good. Then that will be your special assignment this week."

They all jumped. Behind them in the doorway stood LeBeau. With a huge grin on his face.

"You little creep! Let Linda do the dishes; she likes it, she said so herself!"

LeBeau nodded. "Yes, I read that. And you like ironing and she doesn't. Don't worry, we'll keep it in mind."

Sue chuckled. "Better watch out what you reveal in those reviews."

LeBeau just kept grinning, but all he said was: "If you ladies follow me, please? I'll show you where to find the cleaning equipment."

Eva pulled a face, but they all followed the little corporal to a shabby shed not far from the mess hall.

"Schultz has lent us the key for the week," he explained as he opened the door. "So we can get in here to get you supplies 24 hours a day."

Linda grimaced. "Do you think that'll be necessary?"

"Well, that depends. On how fast you clean." He stepped aside to let the ladies pass into the shed. "Take what you need."

They looked around, and their eyes grew wide with disbelief. "That's all?! We have to clean the entire camp with just that!?"

LeBeau nodded sprightly. "This is the 1940's, you know. And you're in a Europe at war. Not in America with all its swanky technical novelties."

No one refuted that; after all, the European – and especially the French – scepsis toward innovations from the other side of the Atlantic was legendary.

"But there isn't even a vacuum cleaner!" Denise noticed, shuddering at the complications that would imply. "That comes under cruel and inhuman treatment. I'm sure they had vacuum cleaners in the forties!"

LeBeau clucked his tongue. "We did have one once. But it turned out to be a bombsite. Not much use when you're cleaning, is it."

Susan grinned. "Yeah. We know."

"Well ladies? Get your gear together and off you go. Someone will come and get you when it's time to prepare the camp's dinner."

"Dinner?" Denise's eyes lit up. "At least cooking is more fun than cleaning."

But Sue had some bad misgivings: "Not potatoes, I hope?"

LeBeau beamed with gloating pleasure. "Of course it's potatoes. You ladies are going to peel the potatoes for about a thousand men today. And tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. And..."

Sue groaned.

"But first you have to start cleaning the barracks. Colonel Hogan already told you what that implies. So you better get started."

"And what if we refuse?"

LeBeau eyed Eva curiously. "Refuse? I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't. This is _our_ story, and you have to undergo anything we come up with. Whether you like it or not, you don't have an own will anymore. You can twist and turn all you want, but in the end you have to do what we decide for you." He chuckled with content. "That's what we call ´a leaf out of your own book´."

For a moment they all stared blankly at him. And in the end, Denise stammered: "Th... that's not t-t-true. P..people always... always have their own w-w-will. You c-c-can't take that from th-them."

"Oh yes, you can." LeBeau rubbed his hands. "And I'm sure you all know that very well. When you write a story about people, then _you_ are the one who holds their wills in your hand. They might run off with the story every once in a while, but in the end _you _are the one who holds the strings."

They let that sink in.

"But we're not people in a story," Eva objected. "We're real!"

A shrug from LeBeau. "That's what they all say. We pointed that out in the courtroom, too. But did you ladies believe us?" He gave Linda a glare. "So we've turned the tables for a change. Now _we_ are the authors, and you can find out for yourself how much fun it is to be forced into situations you do not like at all."

Another silence.

"You mean..." Sue hesitated incredulously. "You mean to tell us that this is all a story you are writing?"

"Exactly! We're having a lot of fun: we can finally get back at you for all the trouble you ladies continually put us through."

"But why us?" Eva demanded. "There's lots of abusive authors out there."

"Yeah. I've been pretty nice lately," Linda pointed out. "Not that I don't enjoy this adventure, but..."

"Well, we picked about the worst ones at the time. Unfortunately for us, since then others have taken over and come up with some nasty experiences for us, too. I don't know; we might have to get back at them later. But with you four we want to set an example. And in some cases" – he gave Denise an ominous glare – "apparently the example needs to be given quite a bit clearer."

Denise raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. "Why? What did I do?"

"What did _you_ do?" LeBeau nearly exploded with indignation. "Having the Colonel on the Berlin Express when it's going to be blown up! Having him shot by poor Schultz! Having him drugged senseless by the Gestapo! Having him bothered with some dark secret, including character death! And worst of all: having him tortured by a violin recital from the Kommandant! Have you no heart, woman?"

Linda chuckled. "Nope. She lost it. To Colonel Hogan."

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Keep tuned! Three more chapters are written and ready to be typed up and uploaded!_


	14. Mindboggling realities

"I don't like it," Denise said as they walked over to their first barracks. Each of them carried a broom, a bucket, a rough brush and a handful of old rags. One bucket was filled with bleach, another with ammonia, the other two with icy cold water.

"Me neither." Eva sighed. "I think I rather watch Hogan's Heroes at home on the couch. Instead of living it live." She wrinkled her nose. "As a cleaning lady no less."

"We could always try to escape," Linda suggested.

Sue let out a little laugh. "Escape? No one escapes from Stalag 13. You know that."

"You've been watching the show too much," Denise chided.

"And you forget all the people Hogan successfully smuggled out," Linda reminded her. "But that's not what I meant. LeBeau sort of said that we cannot escape from the _story_. That they – as the authors – are the ones who hold the strings. Well, I'd like to put that to the test."

"But then you _have_ to escape from Stalag 13," Eva pointed out. "You want to ruin Klink's perfect record?"

"Exactly." Linda's eyes sparkled at the thought of the adventures she might encounter, and of course she totally ignored the mention of Klink's record. "Because once I'm out of camp, and they don't know where I am, that means they can't write about me anymore. Which means I'm free to do whatever I want. And they can't stop me any longer!"

Sue shuddered. "I'm not so sure I _want_ to get out of this camp."

Eva agreed. "Here we are under the protection of Colonel Klink."

"Of Colonel Hogan!" Denise corrected heatedly.

"Of both, I suppose," Linda appeased her two fellow authors before they could launch into a full-blown argument.

"Whatever." Eva sighed. "Anyway, here in the camp we're relatively safe. But out there you're at the mercy of those nazi beasts. Like Hochstetter. Is that what you want?"

"And besides," Susan remembered, "the invitation said we got to be here for a week. So for one week, Colonel Hogan and his men apparently have complete power over us. But if you leave their custody, their sphere of influence, what do you think will happen to you at the end of the week? You say yourself that they can't write about you if they don't know where you are. But if they can't write about you, how are they going to get you back home? To our own time? You may be stuck in this war-torn country for the rest of your life!"

"Hm." Linda frowned as she thought that over. But soon – too soon, according to her friends – her face brightened again. "It doesn't matter," she told them. "If I do get stuck here, you guys can always write me out of that pickle once you're back home." She looked as if she wanted to take off here and now, but then thought the better of it. "I'd better wait until tonight. It's safer."

"And in the meantime we'd better start cleaning," Sue pointed out. "If none other, for the sake of not attracting attention."

"We attract more than enough of that as it is." Eva nodded towards the young men who were watching their every move with eager eyes.

"Right. A-cleaning we will go." Linda picked up her bucket again and marched on to the first barracks. "Anyone care to share this barracks with me?"

A handsome young private suddenly blocked her way. "I certainly wouldn't mind."

Linda put down her bucket and looked him over from top to toe. "Yeah. You'll do. Are you any good at scrubbing floors? Or would you prefer to clean out the stove?"

The sensual look in his beautiful dark eyes became haunted as he held out his hands in defence. "I didn't mean _that_! I meant..."

"Pity. That's what I meant." She picked up her bucket and busted through the door. "Allo guys, move it. We're going to clean here."

Some of the POW's moved obediently outside, but two American corporals defiantly remained seated at the table.

"Ooh, a lady in the house. How long ago since we saw a lady, Charlie?"

"I don't know." The one called Charlie winked obnoxiously at the three ladies in the doorway. "I can't remember. How long have we been here: some forty-five years?"

"Then it's about time you retired," Linda retorted. "Now get out of here, or we'll have to report to Colonel Hogan that you were obstructing the course of justice." A little threatening gesture with her bucket full of bleach did the rest.

As soon as they left, the others came in.

"Well done," said Denise as she looked around the deserted barracks. "Now we can tuck up our sleeves and get to work. I'll start scrubbing the floor; nice and easy. I love throwing water around."

"_Not_ a good idea," Eva remarked as she put down her things.

"And why not?"

"If you clean the floor first, then all the dirt and dust that you wipe off higher surfaces will come on that clean floor. Which means you'll have to clean the floor twice."

"Hm. Okay. I hadn't thought of that. So we should start at the top, eh?" She grabbed her broom, climbed onto the table and started awkwardly brushing away at the ceiling. It looked like it hadn't had a good scrub since the barracks was built: it was full of cobwebs, and suddenly...

"Aargh!!!!"

In a flash the others – who had started on the beds – turned around. But all they saw was a frenzied Denise throwing down her broom, jumping off the table and with a clownesque run disappearing into the office at the far end of the room.

One moment they stood motionless. But as the alarming cries and bumps continued from the other room, they rushed after her as one woman.

Unfortunately, they were not one woman. And of course the door wasn't designed to let three people pass at once.

"Ouch!"

"Ouch!"

"Hmpf!"

But even though they could not enter all at once, they were definitely able to _see_ the damage all at once.

There was Denise, in her underwear, dancing frantically to get out of the legs of her overalls.

"What are you doing?" Linda asked concerned.

"A spider!" Denise squeaked out. She was trembling so badly that her teeth clattered as she spoke. "A spider! A big, black spider! He fell down the ceiling, right into the neck of my overalls!" She shook herself anxiously. "Is he gone?"

Eva picked up the overalls Denise had finally untangled herself from and shook them out. No spider appeared. And while Sue checked Denise's back for bites – "I felt him on my skin," Denise shuddered. "It was as if he had at least _fifty_ long hairy legs!" – Linda checked the room to see if the little vermin had simply run off into hiding.

* * *

"The spiders in this part of the world don't bite," LeBeau pointed out. "And even if they did, they're not poisonous."

Newkirk chuckled. "But those bloody Yanks won't know that. Let them sweat!"

* * *

"Did he bite you?" Sue asked anxiously.

"I don't know." Denise took back her overalls and started to turn them inside out to make sure no spider remained in there. "I was so distressed when I felt him crawling on my back." She shuddered again with horror. "But I don't think I felt a bite."

"I don't see one either," Sue confirmed as she checked Denise's back once more. "Seems to me you got off lucky this time."

"Yeah." Denise started pulling her overalls the right way around again – satisfied that no spiders were left crawling in there. "Well, that was that. Let's get back to work. Does any of you want to take over the ceiling? I think I've had my share of spiders for today."

Eva, Susan and Linda looked doubtfully at each other. Apparently none of them was very keen on getting a spider down their neck.

But at last Eva gave in. "Allright, I'll do it. After all, someone has to brave the dangers of this place."

They worked on in the companiable clatter and wishwash of their cleaning ingredients. And of the occasional shriek of terror of course, since four more spiders came dropping down from the ceiling when their homes were mercilessly destroyed. But one of them...

"Ggggg....!" the others certainly heard.

They instantly turned to Linda, whose turn it was to brave the dangers from above. They saw her gagging and coughing ferociously.

"What's the matter! Are you choking?!" Sue inquired anxiously.

But Linda just hopped off the table and rushed over to the water fountain, where she kept gurgling her throat under the watchful eyes of her friends for at least ten minutes.

"What is it?" they all urged her as she finally surfaced again.

"A bug. I swallowed a bug that fell down from the ceiling. At least..." She paled at the thought. "I _hope_ it was a bug. And not one of those big black spidery things..."

There was one more source of minor consternation when Susan let out another shriek as she discovered something really creepy crawly in the water basin as well. But with undaunted bravery Eva brushed the indistinct creature into a coffee mug and disposed of it outside.

Denise shuddered. "Someone will drink from that cup again tonight..."

Eva shrugged. "What they don't know, won't hurt. And besides, they're men. They love living life dangerously."

But further they dusted, scrubbed and washed, and when Linda at last threw their final bucket of water out over the floor to wash away even the last specks of dust...

"Out!!" four female voices yelled in fierce unison.

"Why?" Charlie marched unperturbed through the room with his muddy army boots. "I'm just getting my cigarettes; then I'll be out of your way again, I promise."

Eva huffed indignantly. "Men!"

"Oh, by the way, Charlie..." Denise's voice was all sugar and spice all of a sudden.

"Yes?" The young corporal had no hunch.

"Is this your cup?"

He came back for a good look. "Yep. That's mine allright. It's chipped here, see?"

"Good." She smiled sweetly at him. "Because that's the one we used to throw out all the creepy insects we came across."

His face split open in a wide grin. "Yummy! I love spider-tea!"

And with that, he put his mug down on the table and marched out. Leaving even more mud and sand on the only just scrubbed floor.


	15. An awful lot of potatoes

They were halfway through their fourth barracks when Carter, genial as ever, came sauntering in.

"Hello ladies. How are you doing?"

"Busy," Denise mumbled.

Carter laughed. "Well, as the Colonel always says: it's a busy war."

"Oh Carter, could you please give me a hand with these blankets?"

"Sure." Carter smiled and followed Susan outside. Together they beat the fifteen blankets under sociable chat from the young American.

"Thank you, sergeant." Sue gave him a grateful smile.

And Carter blushed happily. "My pleasure, ma'am. Here, let me take them for you."

But just as he carried them inside... "Carter, what the heck are you doing?!"

The accusing voice was so startling that he nearly dropped the pile of blankets on the threshold. "Kinch! You don't have to scare me like that!"

"What are you doing?" Kinch repeated.

"Oh. I was just helping with the blankets."

Kinch shook his head in dismay. "They can manage, Carter. They're used to it; after all, they are women. Apparently _real_ women, who easily tricked you into doing their work for them."

"She didn't trick me; she asked," Carter explained. "And very nicely, too."

But Kinch was not to be moved: "That's the same thing. But wasn't there something else you were supposed to do here?"

Carter frowned, but immediately his face brightened as the memory came back to him. "Oh! Yes. That's right. I was to... Ehm... Ladies!" He climbed up on the table to get their attention.

And Eva screamed. "Get your dirty feet off that table, you fool! We just scrubbed it!"

"Oh!" Carter stepped down. "Sorry about that. I'll help you clean it again afterwards if you like."

Kinch rolled his eyes.

And Carter continued: "But you ladies may leave your cleaning for now. It's time for dinner."

Linda let out a faint 'hurrah'. "I'm starving..."

"Well..." Carter looked positively uncomfortable now. "You'll have to prepare it first."

"That's okay, too. Then at least we'll get to snatch a few bites in advance."

"Ehm..." Carter put his hands in his pockets and shuffled awkwardly with his feet. "I wouldn't try that if I were you, ma'am. People have done that before. But raw potatoes'll give you horrible cramps in the stomach."

Linda sighed with resignation, and they all followed the young sergeant back to the kitchen. Although... they could hardly get in.

"Something is blocking the door," Denise remarked unwarily.

And Carter nodded. "The potatoes, yes. It takes an awful lot of potatoes to feed nearly a thousand men."

Sue groaned in anticipatory agony.

But in the end they finally managed to wriggle the door open wide enough to squeeze through, right into a veritable sea of potatoes.

"I think I'm going to faint..." Sue predicted weakly. "Do we have to peel _all_ of those?"

"Yes ma'am. The skillets are on the counter, and dinner is at five." He looked around the kitchen-floor – or rather: around the potato-floor. "We're really lucky, you know. We got this load in today. Imagine: real Flenzheim potatoes!" On that note he left, closing the door behind him.

Weakly, Sue fell down in a heap on the potatoes. "Real Flenzheim potatoes," she repeated faintly. "How are we ever going to get these peeled by 5 p.m.?"

"By getting started," Eva suggested. She waded through the potatoes and got the skillets from the counter. "Here." She handed them each a knife and knelt down among the muddy potatoes.

Suddenly Denise burst out laughing. "You two look positively silly. Princess on the Potatoes!"

Sue scowled. "As if you look any better. Sweaty, beet-red, hair sticking out, cobwebs in your hair, stains all over..."

Denise looked at her hands. "Yeah. My hands are a mess, too. All rough and cloven. And I haven't got any nails left either."

"None of us has. Now come on and get peeling," Eva ordered.

Meekly, Linda and Denise obeyed and soon the huge pans in the room were slowly being filled with good Flenzheim potatoes.

"You know," Eva said after a while, "most of the vitamins and other nutritious matter is stored in the peel. So why should we peel them? It's far more healthy to eat them _with_ their skin."

The dull eyes of the others lit up instantly. "I've heard that about fruit, yes," Linda announced. "I'm not sure if it goes for potatoes, too, but I'm more than willing to share your view on the matter."

"Me too," Sue chimed in. "Especially in such unhealthy conditions as in a nazi POW camp, it would be foolishness to throw away _any_ nutritious matter. And least of all vitamins."

"And washing goes quicker than peeling, so..." Denise already got up and started lifting arms full of unpeeled potatoes into the sink.

It still took them quite a while to give those muddy potatoes a thorough scrub, but at least they were able to put the pans on the fire by a quarter past four.

"So, that's done." Linda dried her hands on her overalls. "Can we get a break now? My back is killing me after all that hard labour."

"Nope. No breaks. Sorry."

Denise turned around in a flash. "Robert! Finally!"

"Eh... that's _Colonel Hogan_ for you, my dear," he corrected stoically.

But Denise was not to be discouraged: "I've been _longing_ to see you," she cooed. "I've been here for nearly two days and I've hardly seen you! You naughty boy: why are you playing hard to get? I know you love women. _Any_ woman," she reminded him as she playfully put her arms around his neck.

He nodded, and then untangled himself. "You're right, I do. Except those who throw themselves at their victims."

Sue chuckled. "Like Frau Linkmeyer?"

He grimaced. "Among others, yes." But then he got back to business, still fending off Denise's advances. "The mess sergeant will keep an eye on the food now. You better get back to your cleaning job. For at the rate that's going, you're going to have to work around the clock if you want to finish that before the week is over."

Eva stood up defiantly. "And what if we don't _want_ to finish it? It's a disgusting job. Let your men do it! Or even better: do it yourself!"

With Denise lovingly stroking his cheek, Hogan gave her a curious glance. "The Kommandant is going to be awfully disappointed with you if he doesn't win that prize."

The ladies looked at each other. "What prize?"

A snigger from Hogan. "For the cleanest POW camp in all of Germany. It's quite an honour, you know."

Eva stuck out her chin. "In that case, _we're_ going to make sure he wins that prize. Come on, girls. Let's get back to work."

And as she marched off, back to the barracks they had been cleaning, she dragged the whining Denise with her.

"Colonel Hogan...! I love you, I really do!"


	16. No one escapes from Stalag 13, right?

"I'm going to escape tonight," Linda announced as she attacked a filthy water basin with fierce determination.

Sue looked up from the stool she was scrubbing. "How?"

"I'll sneak out sometime after dinner, when it's dark, and get into the tunnel through the entrance in the kennel. And then I'll leave through the emergency tunnel." She looked around. "Anyone with me?"

Sadly, Susan shook her head. "Not me. I don't dare to leave this camp. With my background..."

Her voice trailed off, and Linda put a comforting hand on her arm. "Hey, I understand. Don't worry. As long as you're in Hogan's power, he'll make sure you're safe from the Gestapo." She looked around. "Any of you then?"

Denise shook her head. "No way. Now that I'm _finally_ close to my Robert, I'm not going to run off." A mischievous grin crossed her face as a new thought popped up in her mind. "At least not _without_ him!"

"And I have no wish whatsoever to leave the Kommandant to his fate either," Eva declared. "So it looks like you'll be escaping on your own."

"Oh, that's fine with me." Linda had an impatient shrug. "One person is harder to track down than a whole group. But if you _dare_ go squealing on me, you three...!"

"Of course we won't," Sue promised, and Eva and Denise promptly followed suit.

"And in case I do get stuck out here when you return, you've got to _promise_ me to write me back home asap!" Linda insisted.

And even that they willingly promised. Even though the whole escapade meant they'd have to clean the camp with a 25 percent smaller workforce.

* * *

"Yuck. What's that?"

"Hey, that's not fair! They didn't peel them! We always have to peel them!"

"Why, you _like_ eating sand with your potatoes?"

"It's called _potatoes in their jacket_," Eva informed the complaining men icily. "It's good for you. It's more healthy this way."

"It is?" Wilson wondered.

But: "That's what my mother always said whenever I didn't like my food..." someone else grunted.

But then Hogan's voice was heard. "Pipe down, fellows! Now let's see what the problem is." He stepped up to the front where the four ladies were serving dinner. "Now what's going on here? Wilson?"

Wilson looked doubtfully at his plate. "The ladies insist that it's healthier to eat potatoes _this_ way, sir. _With_ their skin. But I don't know... It doesn't look very appetizing."

Hogan raised his eyebrows at the ladies behind the counter. "Is this some sort of a joke? Why didn't you peel the potatoes as you were told to?"

"It's no joke." Eva stood firm to her ground. "Scientific research has shown that most of the nutritional value and vitamins are stored in the _peel_ of a potato. Of any fruit, actually. So the peel is the healthiest part; the rest is just filling. Wouldn't it be stupid to throw away the most nutritious part of the potatoes then? Especially when living under conditions like these."

Hogan regarded her doubtfully. "Is this true?"

"Yes, it is," Denise confirmed. "_Everybody_ in our time eats their potatoes like this."

"Oh." He was silent. "Well, we can always try for today. Men!" he turned to the hall. "We're having a special dish from the future today. Very healthy. So please don't turn it down just because it doesn't look good. You should at least try it!"

The complaining died down a bit, but when the four ladies finally got the chance to get some potatoes themselves, they soon discovered that most of the prisoners as well as the guards had simply peeled off the healthy peel on their plate instead.

"The peel protects the potato from the dirt in the ground," their neighbour (an elderly British corporal) at the table stated knowingly. "It´s a kind of filter. Therefore it's not good to eat the peel; that's where all the dirt is stored. And besides..." He grimaced. "You forgot the salt."

* * *

"So much for our healthy dish," Denise muttered as they got back to the kitchen to wash up.

Linda shrugged. "Well, at least we got out of the peeling. Can't expect such old codgers from the '40's to understand modern dietary concepts, can you?" She put down her pile of plates and headed for the back door. "Well, see you, ladies! I'm off."

"Off where?" Sue wanted to know.

"Escaping of course."

"Ho, wait!" Denise cried out. "You can't leave us here with all those dishes! You promised me _you'd_ do the dishes if I'd take the ironing! Then it's not fair to walk out on us before you've done those bloody dishes!"

"Allright, allright..." Linda came back to the sink and started pouring water and soap into it. "I'll do most of them. But you must let me go before we're finished, for the guys have a knack of showing up to get us to our jobs just as we finish every time."

So by the time most of the dishes had been done, Linda carefully snuck out of the building. The sun had gone down by now, and soon the thick dusk would turn into the black of night.

The search-lights already swept the compound in their familiar pattern. A bit like lighthouses, Linda reflected as she carefully dodged from shadow to shadow. Two more buildings and...

Suddenly her heart jumped to her throat. A guard approaching!

Swiftly she moved back around the corner of the barracks and pressed her back against the wall. Her heart beat so loudly that she was certain the guard would hear it.

But as usual in Stalag 13, the guard was totally oblivious to her presence, and walked right by her without even noticing anything out of the ordinary.

"Pfew..." Linda let go of her breath as soon as he was properly out of sight. "That was close. Now off to the kennel."

Stealthily she moved on, until her fingers touched the wire of the kennels. A soft whining caught her ear.

"Hey, good doggy. Good doggy, aren't you? I'm just going to come in and..."

She had to duck for the search-lights first, but as it moved on she sprinted to the kennel-door, unbolted it, and quickly moved inside.

Immediately all the dogs crowded around her, looking for goodies.

"Shoo! I don't have anything for you. Just let me go into the tunnel, okay?"

But they kept pressing up against her legs, and two of them heartily insisted on standing up against her shoulders and licking her face all over. With all that going on, it was a real struggle to get to the doghouse. And by that time...

Quickly, Linda dropped to the ground in the midst of the dogs, to avoid attracting the attention from the guard handling the search-light.

And she spluttered. "Yuck. Filthy beasts. Did you now _have_ to lay that turd right in front of the doghouse?!"

She got up as the light moved on. No time to take in the damage; she had to get down into the tunnel. And fast, before the sweeping light would return.

But in the doghouse was a dog.

"Bismarck! Heidi! Or whoever you are, please, come out of there!" she whispered urgently. "I'm a friend of Colonel Hogan; I need to get down in the tunnel."

A flapping sound was the only answer; apparently the friendly dog was wagging his tail at her.

"Come on!" Linda urged the big shepherd on. "Don't make me drag you out of there!"

A deep growl made her cringe. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." She heaved a sigh. "Now will you _please_ get out of there? Please, please, pretty please? Before...?"

But the sweeping light was already approaching fast, and there was nothing to be done for her than to fall down in the dog pooh again for cover.

Fortunately, once the light had passed once more without uncovering her, Bismarck (or whoever it was) yawned loudly, stretched his legs and lazily got out of the doghouse.

"About time," Linda grunted. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? They never had this kind of trouble in the show!"

Quickly she lifted up the house and felt for the rungs of the ladder going down. And as soon as her feet got hold, she turned around and carefully started to descend into the dark hole, while awkwardly lowering the doghouse over her head.

The dogs stood staring after her, and barked a ferocious warning.

But at least she was inside, down in the tunnel and on her way to...

"Hello hello hello? Take a wrong turn, did you?"

And Linda could do little else but sigh. "Hi Newkirk."

"What are you doing here, luv? Trying to escape, are we?" He clucked his tongue and tilted his head. "You of all people should know better than that. _No one_ escapes from Stalag 13 – not without the Governor's approval, that is. I'm surprised you even bother trying." He shook his head. "Now what shall we do with you?"

Another sigh from Linda. "You might as well court-martial me right away. Get it over and done with."

He sniggered. "We can't. Even if we'd want to, we can't. Civilians cannot be court-martialled, remember? And besides..." Another chuckle escaped his lips. "We're having far too much fun with you ladies. How did you like the dog pooh? That was LeBeau's idea. Brilliant, what?"

* * *

"Colonel Hogan?" Baker's head popped up from the tunnel entrance in the middle of the general chuckle about Newkirk's latest remark.

"Yes Baker, what's up?"

"Urgent message from London, sir. It's in the threefold-double-flipped-inside-out code, so it must be pretty important."

"Allright. Kinch, I'm going to need you; you know that code better than I do."

"And what about the story?" Carter protested. "We're just getting to a good part!"

Hogan shook his head as he swiftly swung his legs over the frame and onto the ladder. "Sorry guys. We'll have to leave that for later. First things first. And this sounds mighty important."

"Hm." Everyone grunted. Just as they were having such a good time, London had to call and spoil everything again... Pouting and disappointed they retreated to their bunks. Hammond went into the office to bring Garth up to date with their latest writings, and Newkirk...

A swift jerk with the head, and LeBeau grabbed his coat, his beret and his shawl and followed his friend outside.

"Hey Louis, look what I've got here," he smirked as they rounded the corner of the barracks. And from under his sweater he produced the half-filled notebook with the promising title "_Our Own Little Mary Sue Project: Sweet Revenge_".

LeBeau's eyes lit up. "Let's continue the story on our own! I hate waiting."

And Newkirk grinned. "My idea, mate. You got a pencil?"


	17. Of dogs, starfish and kitchen knives

_Added warning from konarciq: _

_Watch it!  
__As you might recall from earlier chapters,  
__Newkirk and LeBeau did not quite share Hogan's views about the nature of their revenge! _

* * *

They sat down with their back against the last barracks, facing the woods in the meager afternoon-sun. LeBeau produced a pencil and off they went with the story.

* * *

Newkirk took Linda by the arm and guided her up to the barracks. "Look what I found, Governor!" He thrusted his prisoner forward, so that she almost landed in the Colonel's arms.

Almost. For the stench of dog pooh was so penetrating that everybody backed away as far as they possibly could.

"Newkirk," the Colonel complained, "why did you have to bring that in here?"

"Corpus delicti, sir. I found her in the tunnel, trying to escape."

The Colonel shook his head. "No one escapes from Stalag 13. Do you want to ruin Klink's perfect record, lady? You're still Hochstetter's prisoner, remember?" He waved his hand. "Take her away."

"To the cooler, sir?"

"Better take her to the kennel," the Colonel grimaced. "With _that_ smell..."

"Yeah. In a German uniform," LeBeau snickered.

"Why, that's a marvellous idea!" Carter exclaimed. "I'll go and get one right away!" He jumped excitedly down the stairs, and in a moment he was back with a black Gestapo overcoat. "That should do the trick!"

Linda's lip started trembling. "I promise: I'll _never_ do it again! But _please_, don't throw me in with the dogs!"

But the Colonel grinned, in that special diabolical way that only Colonel Hogan can. "Tough luck, lady. You've got only yourself to blame. Or would you rather have us put you through the multiple hells you so enjoy springing on us?"

Linda turned absolutely livid. "No, no!" she cried. "I'm only a poor and weak little woman. _Please_ don't do that to me! Please!" She fell down on her knees and beggingly grabbed the Colonel's shins. "I promise: I'll never, _ever_ be so heartless again! But _please_ don't torture me! I'm sure I wouldn't survive!"

But the Colonel was not to be bugged. She had hurt him many times too often. _Badly_ hurt him many times too often for him to be able to forgive her. Or even feel sorry for her. So he turned his back on her and brusquely walked off outside, saying: "I'll see if I can arrange a firing squad for tomorrow then."

Now Linda really started crying, and I can tell you: it was a wonderful sight to witness. Carter started to take pity on her, soft-hearted fool that he is. But the others wouldn't let him: they forced Linda's arms through the sleeves of the Gestapo overcoat, LeBeau buttoned it up, and Kinch threw the thick-skulled howling lady over his shoulder and carried her off to the dogpound. We all followed, making cat-calls and calling her names. By the time we arrived at the dogpound, she was positively screaming.

Unfortunately, that attracted the attention of the guards. And as Otto and Bismarck and Heidi and Gretl and Habsburg and Hohenzollern and Kaiser and Wilhelm and Bernhard and Claus and Mecklenburg and Heinrich and Juliana and Einstein and Weimar all crowded around the entrance to their kennel, Schultz came hurrying towards them, with his rifle dragging through the sand as usual.

"Aber was ist denn hier los! Go back in the barracks, all of you! Zurück in die Baracke, schnell! Back, back back back back back! Back, back back back back back!"

"Hi Schultzie! We're just taking care of a traitor, that's all." From behind his back, LeBeau produced a generous slice of Strudel. "Would you like some, Schultzie? I made it especially for you."

Schultz's mouth started watering, and he quickly bit off a mouthful. "Mmm... Delicious!"

"Schultz, help me!" Linda cried.

But Schultz shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frau Groundwater. Not now. Maybe later. Strudel comes first," he munched without taking his eyes off the plate.

In the meantime, Baker had opened the gate and Kinch deposited his load in the middle of the gathered dogs.

Linda screamed.

"Have a nice time, boys and girls!" LeBeau wished his friends, and then the whole group went back to the barracks as Schultz had requested they'd do. And Schultz himself followed, too, of course: for the sole sake of the promise of another mega slice of Apfelstrudel.

From the dogpound came excited barking, alternated by strangled cries for help.

But nobody cared about _that_.

* * *

LeBeau rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "That'll teach her. Now onto the next."

But Newkirk bit pensively at the end of his pencil. "You know what I would really like, Louis?"

"What?"

"To throw in some more of those ruddy authors. To add a bit of flavour, you know. I can easily think of another dozen or so who could do with a good spanking."

"Not a bad idea," LeBeau agreed. "But how do we get them here? With that invitation idea again? Or a time machine! I've always liked stories about time machines!"

Newkirk had an evil grin. "No. I've got a much better idea. Remember at the courthouse, when the Gov was taken up to that starship?"

* * *

"Hello! Starship 1, come in, please. Here Stalag 13. Over."

The giant walkie-talkie creaked and whistled horribly, but from outer space the answer came quickly: "Starship 1 to Stalag 13. Read you loud and clear. Over."

"We are ready to receive the packages we asked for. You can beam them down into the compound. Over."

"Roger, Stalag 13. Packages are ready to be shipped out. They will be sent out ten seconds from... now. Over and out."

"Thanks for your help, Starship 1. Over and out."

Newkirk put down the light weight super walkie-talkie and turned to watch the center of the compound. Next to him, Carter slowly counted backwards: "Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..."

Suddenly there was a simmer in the middle of the compound. It was like the boiling air on a hot summer day, prerequisite for mirages.

And indeed, a mirage appeared: small pieces of human body were swirling around in the heat above the dusty ground, frantically searching for the rest of the body they belonged to. And finally...

"Sacré chat...!" LeBeau breathed in shock. "What went wrong?"

And Carter's mouth hung wide open, his eyes bulging. "Newkirk! This isn't right! Put them back together again!"

Newkirk snatched up the walkie-talkie. "Stalag 13 to Starship 1! This is an emergency! Come in, Starship 1!"

"Starship 1 to Stalag 13. Read you loud and clear. Over."

"What the heck happened? Did you guys put these people through the mincer or something?! They're all messed up! Over."

"Could you please clarify that, Stalag 13? Over."

"All the limbs are in the wrong place! One has five arms, and another three legs and two heads and no arms at all, and then there's one who has everything, but in the wrong place, and... They look like bloody starfish!"

"Oops. Sorry about that, chaps. Must be a loose wire somewhere. We'll beam them right back up and fix it. Over and out."

Immediately, the compound began to simmer again, and the starfished ladies disintegrated and disappeared into thin air.

And a few minutes later the Starship called back: "Starship 1 to Stalag 13. Come in, please. Over."

"Stalag 13 to Starship 1. Read you loud and clear. Over."

"The problem has been fixed, Stalag 13. Do you want us to send down the packages again right away? Over."

"Yes, please. We're ready and waiting. Over."

"Roger, Stalag 13. The packages will be sent out ten seconds from... now. Over and out."

"Thank you, Starship 1. Over and out."

Carter was counting again: "Eight, seven, six, five, four, three..."

"Carter, why are you counting backwards?"

Schultz's voice startled the three of them, but the fright Schultz got but a moment later exceeded this by far: "Whoaaaah!! G... g... ghosts!!" He took off as fast as he could waddle, yammering: "Kommandaaant! Kommandant Klink! Heeelp!! Colonel Hogaaan!!"

The three men chuckled, but then they focused their attention on the new arrivals: a dozen or so fresh authors from the next millennium.

They all looked about rather dazed, and the men quickly seized the opportunity to tie their hands behind their back.

"Where are we? What happened?" someone asked bleakly.

LeBeau gave them a disheartening smile. "Welcome to Stalag 13, ladies."

But Newkirk took charge. "Up against the wall of the Kommandant's office now. It's all boarded up anyway, so he won't mind. LeBeau, go and fetch those other ladies; they wouldn't want to miss this. And Little Deer, from what I've seen, you could do with a little target practice. Why don't you get out your precious bow and arrow for the occasion?" He picked up the rifle Schultz had dropped in his panic and herded the ladies over to the office. It was delightful to see them so squirm for a change. With nothing they could do.

"Newkirk dear, what's the matter with you?" one of the ladies asked plaintively. "I don't know you like this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Bits and Pieces. You know, the one who..."

"The one who uses me as a substitute for her husband when he's away," Newkirk completed. "Yes, I remember you. You know, I really sympathize with the guy. Do you continuously put _him_ through a similar kind of trouble?"

Bits and Pieces paled. "No, I don't. Of course I don't."

"Then why do you do it to _me_, eh?" He aimed the rifle at her, but at that moment LeBeau came back. With three shaking ladies.

"The fourth one is late," he informed Newkirk. "I could have brought some of the left-over bones of course, but I didn't have the heart to deprive Bismarck of his treat."

"That's allright. Line them up with the others then."

And there was Carter back with his bow and arrow.

"And what about me?" LeBeau inquired. "I want to do some target practice, too! Wait!" Obviously he had an idea, for he took off in the direction of the kitchen. And a moment later he returned, with some of the biggest kitchen knives one has ever seen.

Carter looked puzzled. "What are you going to do with those?"

LeBeau made some impressing sharpening moves with the shiny blades. "Throw them of course. You know about this restaurant I'm going to open after the war, oui? Well, I thought it might be nice to throw in a little action there. A knife-throwing act with the waitresses or something like that. So I'd better start practising."

"_Start_ practising?!" Denise asked with eyes bulging.

"Of course. One has to start _somewhere_," LeBeau answered casually.

But Newkirk demanded attention. "Allright, now we each got our weapon. Now first we're going to shoot the outline of the each of the authors. You know, like they do with chalk when there's been a murder. That way we can have a lot of practice before we actually shoot the fools. And those bloody authors will have to hold _very_ still if they don't want to get hit untimely!"

Carter chuckled. "The Fanfic Author Duck Shoot. Just like..."

"Yeah. Who came up with _that _stupid idea," LeBeau grunted, and he glared around at the line of trembling lady-authors.

"Me," a little voice came from the left. "But that was only to get on trial, because that looked like so much fun. Honest, I have never in my life written anything else like it."

"We don't care about that. You still wrote it." Newkirk scowled. "Men: ready... aim... fire!"

A pang, a hum and a sizzle and a paralyzed Atarah Derek saw her head surrounded by an arrow, a huge knife and a bullet, all hitting the board right next to her head.

"Now who was the one who inflicted me with that horrible appendicitis!" LeBeau demanded sternly.

"That was me," 96 Hubbles spoke up.

"Right. Ready... aim... fire!"

A pang, a hum and a sizzle, and she, too, barely escaped being penetrated by no less than three dangerous missiles at once.

"And I'll _never_ forgive you!" LeBeau spat. "Jamais!"

"Now it's my turn," Carter insisted. "Now who's the one who puts all these strange ideas into our heads? About falling in love with each other, I mean."

Newkirk scowled. "Yeah. I hate those stories, too. They're disturbing my inner peace."

"That's me," someone piped up. "But I'm not the only one, mind you."

"But you do write those. A lot," Newkirk accused the poor Johnny Davenport. "So: ready... aim... fire!"

"And where's the one who sent the Governor to a plastic surgeon and told his family that he was dead?"

"Here. I'm sorry, Newkirk. I really am."

"Spare me your sorry excuses, will you? You should've thought of that before. Men: ready... aim... fire!"

The ladies were still unharmed, though scared out of their wits whenever it was their turn. But how long would the three musketeers be able to keep up this excellent shooting record?

"And where is the one that let the dirty Boche win the war?" LeBeau demanded in a great state of mind.

"That's me," Jordre confessed.

And immediately, the hot-head LeBeau marched over to her. "You traitor!" He spat on the noses of her shoes. "How could you do this to us! Don't you understand that the Boche are the _bad_ guys? Bad guys don't win!"

"LeBeau, get back here," Newkirk ordered.

"I want to kill this one off for real," LeBeau hissed as he joined his friends again. "How _dare_ she let the filthy Boche win the war...!"

But: "Be patient, Louis. Not yet. Let them sweat first," Newkirk reminded him. "Now: ready... aim... fire!"

"And where's that lady who always gets me into accidents?" he demanded next.

"That's me." Deana looked him in the eye with a mixture of swooning love and fearful apprehension. "But only because I love you so much, Newkirk."

Carter shook his head. "She's as crazy as that ColHogan woman," he observed. "Let's scare the living daylights out of her, shall we?"

"Yep. My idea. Ready... aim..."

* * *

"Newkirk! LeBeau? _Where_ is the notebook with our story!"

"Oops." Newkirk tugged the pencil behind his ear. "There comes trouble."

"Oui..." LeBeau sighed. "_Big _trouble, I'm afraid..."


	18. Putting things right

"What the heck do you two think you're doing?!" Hogan snatched the notebook out of Newkirk's hands and leafed through the last few pages with the Englishman's handwriting. And groaned. "_Ready, aim, fire_? _Disintegrating authors_?! _Left-over bones_!?! Are you out of your mind!"

Awkwardly, Newkirk and LeBeau scrambled to their feet.

"We didn't like the wait, sir, so..." Newkirk gulped. "What did London want, sir?"

"Never mind that. You two have only proven something that the Seifert woman wrote years ago: _evil is human_. You're not a _whit_ better than those authors out there."

LeBeau, too, gulped. "We're sorry, mon Colonel."

"Well, sorry don't help. I see you even killed off the Groundwater woman. What do you think she'll do to _you_ in her next story? Whatever it is, don't expect to get any pity from _me_. It's your own fault." He ripped out the pages Newkirk had written and tore them up in tiny little pieces. A cigarette lighter did the rest.

"I can only pray that the thorough destruction of your abuse will wipe out any memory the ladies may have of this foolishness. And now back to the barracks, both of you. LeBeau: until further notice you'll relieve Garth from computer-duty, and you, Newkirk, go down in the tunnel to take Baker's place at the radio. And once the ladies are gone, you'll both be on laundry detail for the rest of the war!"

* * *

"You know," Newkirk folded his arms over his chest. "We have some pretty nasty punishments for people who don't obey the Colonel's orders."

Linda looked up with apprehension. "You have? Are you going to send me off to England?"

"Uh-uh." He took out a cigarette and lighted it in a cumbersome manner before continuing: "That would defeat the object. No. But we might just throw you in with the dogs for a while."

Linda wrinkled her nose. "In the dog pooh, yeah."

"Well, that'd be one of the more desirable features in that case. For when you'd go in there for punishment, you'd be wearing a Gestapo overcoat of course."

For a moment, Linda vividly pictured in her mind's eye what would happen: her entering the kennel in a Gestapo uniform, with a dozen or so dogs that are trained to hate German uniforms... She shuddered. She might get slaughtered alive!

Newkirk chuckled. "I thought you wouldn't be too thrilled about the idea. So we'll go up to the Governor and let him decide what to do with you. And believe me: that's a lucky break for _you_, lady. If you were at_ my_ mercy..."

He took her by the arm and... "Yuck... You've got dog pooh all over you." He grabbed a cloth from a nearby table and wiped his hand. "Come on. And no more funny business or I'll have to blindfold you."

He led the way through the maze of tunnels underneath Stalag 13, and after three bifurcations, eight intersections and an uncountable number of turns, Linda wondered: "Newkirk, where are we going? The dogpound is only a mere fifty yards from the barracks!"

"A little detour, luv. Security procedure, in case you might want to try another foolish escape."

Linda made no reply, but she had to admit the detour was effective: she didn't have a clue in what direction _anything_ was anymore.

After a few more minutes of wandering around underground, she inquired: "When are you guys going to steal that train? This tunnel network is as complicated as the Paris métro!"

"What? Oh!" Her captor shrugged. "I don't know. The Governor has been talking about stealing a bulldozer first and get it down here. To dig a direct connection with Hamelburg, see. Now that would save us a whole lot of trouble."

Linda chuckled. "I bet it would. Why not dig an escape-tunnel right back to England?"

Newkirk let out an incredulous snort. "That'd be the day. Although..." His voice trailed off dreamily. "That would open up some very interesting possibilities indeed..."

Before he could elaborate his dream any further, they reached the radioroom, and from there it was only a dozen or so yards to the trapdoor leading up to barracks 2. He checked their inside periscope to see if the coast was clear, and pulled down the handle that worked the trapdoor from below.

"Hey, I've never seen that!" Linda remarked.

"Well, you don't have know everything, do you?" Newkirk retorted. "Now up you go. And fast.

"Look what I found, Governor!" he announced as he quickly climbed up behind her.

Hogan frowned. "Mrs Groundwater, how did you get in the tunnel?"

"Through the entrance in the kennel," Newkirk answered before she could even begin to open her mouth.

Hogan put down his coffee-mug and raised his eyebrows. "Trying to escape, were you?"

Linda shrugged. "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying, can you? The way you guys are treating us..."

"...is still a Cockaigne compared to what you often have _us_ go through." He frowned. "And besides: you want to ruin our whole organization? You know the motto: _no one_ escapes from Stalag 13! Don't forget: you're not just our cleaning-lady; you're Klink's prisoner, too! And Hochstetter's! So what do you think will happen if you'd just disappear?"

"Hochstetter will be ranting like crazy, Klink will be busted, and we can close up shop," Kinch summarized.

"Yes!" Carter chimed in. "So you better watch what you're doing, lady! Because if we have to close up shop, who knows what might happen to all the downed fliers around here! And to us! _Hogan's Heroes_ would simply cease to exist! We might all get shot, or picked up by the Gestapo for intensive questioning, or..."

"Yes, we get the picture, Carter," Kinch shushed him.

"So what do we do with her, mon Colonel?"

Hogan stroked over his mouth, as if to hide a smile. "Easy. We'll give her some extra duties, to get her mind off any further escape attempts. But first she'll have to get cleaned up." He wrinkled his nose at her in disgust. "You smell awful. LeBeau, can you perhaps lend her your spare pair of overalls for now? And then..." His smile grew slightly diabolical. "Then I'm sure Mrs Groundwater could do with a shower. And then back to work; shame on you to walk out on your comrades! And tonight..." He left the sentence hanging in the air, for Linda to brood on.

"Tonight what, sir?" Carter eagerly inquired.

But Hogan shook his head. "She'll find out when the time has come. LeBeau, take her to the showers, and make sure she gets back to work with her mates after that."

"Oui, mon Colonel."

* * *

Meekly, Linda walked a few yards in front of the little French corporal. He directed her with short commands where to go, for he did not want to walk too close to her. "Your stench would destroy the delicate touch of my precious tastebuds," he had explained with fully unnecessary pathos.

"I thought you liked the dogs," Linda had countered.

"I do. But not the smell of their excrements."

Finally he directed her into a small brick building. He handed her his not overly clean overalls and an old rag of a towel and said: "In you go. You get five minutes of water, and I suggest you use them, for showers are scarce around here."

Linda looked at the things in her hand. "Don't you have any soap? Or shampoo? How am I to get this horrible smell away with just water?"

A snort. "What do you think this is: a five star hotel? There's a war on, chérie. And it has been for ages. Things like soap and shampoo are a rich man's luxury nowadays."

"Oh. Okay." Linda realized he had a point, and she disappeared inside. And LeBeau settled against the wall to wait for what was bound to come.

He didn't have to wait very long: "Aargh! Brrrrr...!"

* * *

"What happened to _you_? Linda! You're back?"

As soon as LeBeau had pushed her into barracks 31, Denise, Eva and Susan dropped whatever they were cleaning and gathered around their returned friend.

"Did you get out of camp at all?" Denise asked.

All Linda could do was shake her head; her teeth clattered too much to be able to voice a comprehensible reply.

"Did they catch you? What did they do?" Sue demanded, and she grabbed Linda's hand. "My, you're freezing cold!"

Eva scowled. "The bastard... Wait till the Kommandant hears about this! Linda, tell us: what did he do to you?"

Once more, Linda shook her head, while Sue rubbed her hands to stimulate the blood circulation. "H...Hogan d...did nothing... yet," she got out. "I f...f...fell in th...the dog p...pooh. And N...N...Newk...kirk c...caught m...me. I'm g...going t...t...to g...g...get...t p...punished to...tonight. M...m...ore d...d...duties."

"But why are you so cold then?" Sue asked gently. "You're even bluish in the face!"

"Th...they let m...me t...t...take a shower t...to w...wash off th...th...the pooh. B...b...but...t it was s...so c...c...cold! L...like ice!" She let out a sob. "And no s...soap!"

They all rubbed her arms and legs and back now, to get her warm again. It seemed to help, as Linda was soon able to remark with compassion: "Those poor guys... Imagine always having such ice-water for your shower... Even the rain is warmer!"

Eva got up. "Well, we'd better get back to work. That'll warm you up soon enough, too."

They cleaned and cleaned, until 11 p.m. That's when Baker came to get them: "You ladies may call it the day now," he announced in the doorway. "And if you like, you may come to our barracks for a nice cup of tea before bed."

Denise dropped her broom and instantly bolted off, making Baker chuckle. "That's some anticipation, eh? How about you three then?"

"Yes. We're coming," Susan replied for the three of them.

They put the cleaning equipment in an unobtrusive corner, ready to finish this barracks first thing tomorrow morning, and followed the younger radio operator on his meandering tour through the many barracks. And when they finally arrived at barracks 2...

"Hello ladies. Fancy a nice cup of tea, do you?" Newkirk took the kettle off the stove, nearly dropping it as he burnt his fingers on the handle.

"Hey, wait a minute. Where is number four?" Hogan inquired with a frown. "Not another escapee, eh?"

Eva let out a little laugh. "Denise? She wouldn't escape from here for a million bucks!"

But Sue looked worriedly about. "Isn't she here yet? She ran off way ahead of us!"

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe she got lost in the compound then."

Indeed: it wasn't until they sipped their last drops of nice hot tea that a frantic Denise finally barged in: "Oh, _Robert_! I was so excited that I got lost!"

Hogan held out his hands. "That's _Colonel Hogan_ for you, remember?"

"I don't care. Now that I've finally found you, I'm not going to leave your side again. Ever!" She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled up to him.

"Oh yes, you are," Hogan said calmly as he callously untangled himself from his loving assailant. "It's time to go beddy-bye. You have a busy day of cleaning again tomorrow, so off you go." He shoved her out of the door, and with that example, the other ladies followed without having to be prompted any further.

But Denise's wailing was heard all the way across the compound, until the door of the cooler fell shut behind them.

By now, the four ladies were simply exhausted from all their unfamiliar hard work. They barely allowed themselves the time to brush their teeth before falling down on the plank bed and wrapping themselves in a blanket. And within a few minutes the light was out.

And nothing was heard save for the deep, peaceful breathing of those who deserve a good night's rest after a long day's work.

And dark, threatening footsteps echoing in the concrete hallway.

"So, ladies," sounded a familiarly mocking voice through the bars. "Time to go to sleep, isn't it? But unfortunately not for all of you."

Despite her fatigue, Denise sat up in a flash. "You want me to come to your office with you?"

Hogan snickered. "No way, lady. And besides, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to your escapist-friend."

Linda groaned. "Time for my punishment, I presume?"

"Exactly." Hogan could barely keep the gloat out of his voice.

Moaning loudly, Linda sat up. "Well, fair is fair, I suppose. What do you want me to do?"

Hogan's face split open in a devilish grin. "Scrub down the delousing station until it sparkles."


	19. They killed the Colonel again!

"Colonel? Message from London, sir." Newkirk, only too happy to vary his boring radio duty with a trip upstairs, looked around the door of Hogan's office.

But there was no reaction. Not even a stir.

Odd.

He came in and gently shook his commanding officer by the shoulder. "Colonel Hogan?"

Not even a groan. And wasn't it kind of odd the way he was lying there on his back, without moving a muscle, without even...

Then realization hit him. For a moment he stood there, petrified. But the next instant he barged into the sleeping common room, yelling at the top of his voice for someone to go and get Wilson on the double: "Quick! They've killed the Colonel again!"

Immediately the entire room was in uproar. Five, six men hustled past him into the office to see for themselves, and Carter nearly tripped down the ladder in his frantic hurry to quickly fetch their medic.

But all poor Wilson could do was confirm Newkirk's diagnosis.

Every prisoner in the barracks turned livid when they heard Wilson's fateful words.

_Again._

_Again_ the heartless fanfic authors had struck.

_Again_ they had killed their so respected, appreciated and admired commanding officer. The person on whom they relied to make life bearable in this rotten prison camp. The one who could get anyone out of trouble. The one they'd trust with their lives.

And yet they had had the audacity to take _his_ life instead. _Again_. For the umpteenth time. Which meant they'd have to spend yet another agonizing night, waiting and waking, between a flicker of hope and desperate fear. After all, you never knew: death could just as well be permanent...

"Is there any way you can tell whether he's going to wake up again in the morning?" Kinch asked their medic in a grave tone, edged with anxiety.

Wilson shook his head. "You ask me this every time this happens. And I wish I could. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but for now I'm afraid I'll have to declare him dead."

Newkirk turned and punched the wall in a powerless gesture of frustration. "And all we can do is sit around and _wait_," he muttered. "I can't take this anymore!" Then he got an idea: "I want to know who's responsible for this!" He headed into the office, peeked at Hogan (no change) and grabbed the laptop off the desk.

"Here," he said as he plunked it down on the table, "let's check the story-page and grab the bloody culprit."

Garth – who had become quite apt in handling this miraculous device from the future – quickly plugged it in, turned it on and navigated to the latest update on the _Hogan's Heroes_ stories on the fanfiction page.

"That's the last one I checked before lights out." LeBeau pointed at a story with the apparently harmless title _"A Newkirk Story"_; according to its description a funny story about Newkirk's first driving lesson.

"They've been busy since that," Carter noted.

"Then we'll start from there." Kinch sat down next to Garth and clicked on the story above _"A Newkirk Story"_.

But Garth shook his head. "The quickest way to get a cinch about the content of a story is to check the reviews." He quickly surfed from one review page to the next, until: "There! They had that fool Mannheim kill him for spite!"

"Who wrote that!" Newkirk barked.

Garth clicked to the story. "Someone named..." He gulped, and his face turned ashen.

"Snooky," Kinch's voice tonelessly filled in.

"What!?" Carter couldn't believe his ears. "And she said... she _promised_...!"

"All talk." Baker heaved a sigh. "You know what women are like."

Newkirk threw down his cigarette. "I'm gonna draw and quarter that one right here and now. With my own bloody hands if I have to!"

"Newkirk," Kinch began in a sigh.

But Newkirk had already stormed out of the barracks.

xxx

"Halt! Who goes there?"

In his fury, Newkirk had forgotten that it was but four in the morning. Which meant that all prisoners were supposed to be asleep in their barracks. So he quelled his rage as best as he could in front of the rotund sergeant of the guard and said in as calm a tone as he could muster: "It's just me, Schultzie. Now be a good sport and escort me to the cooler, will you? I have a serious bone to pick with one of the ladies there."

Suspiciously, Schultz lowered his rifle and came a little closer. "What lady? What are you talking about?"

"The ones we're using to clean the camp. Remember? That Hochstetter brought in the other day, for safe-keeping."

Schultz shook his head. "There are no ladies in the cooler. Believe me: I'd be the first to know. But why would the Kommandant have ladies in the cooler?" He peered closer. "Newkirk, are you sleepwalking again?"

Suddenly it hit Newkirk that he had his realities mixed up. The ladies weren't here in the story in which they were writing a story; they were here in the story itself! Oops...

"Uh... what? Hey! Schultz, what are you doing here?" And looking about: "What am _I_ doing here?"

Another pitiful shake of the head. "So you _were_ sleepwalking again. Dressed and all. Come on, Newkirk. Be a good boy and go back to bed."

Newkirk shook his head. "Now why did you have to wake me up? I had such a lovely dream, with the Kommandant keeping six of the most beautiful Fräuleins in the country in his cooler. To make prison-life a bit more bearable for us sods, you see? And you had to snap me out of that dream?!"

Schultz chuckled. "It sure sounds promising. But you better go back to the barracks or you'll be in trouble. Don't worry: _I'll_ make sure there aren't any ladies in the cooler."

"I knew you would." And Newkirk turned to saunter back to the barracks.

Upon entering the barracks, he raised his hands in defensive surrender. "I know, I know, I got carried away."

Kinch had a slight smile. "It's okay, Newkirk. We're all upset."

"As we always are when they do this to us," LeBeau added in a grim tone.

"But this time we got her in our clutches, right?" A still fiery Newkirk looked around the circle of his barracks mates. "So I say, let's get back at her. Here and now, and before the Colonel wakes up and stops us again!"

Kinch frowned, and Carter piped up: "I don't think I'd like that, Newkirk. Killing her off, I mean. I mean, if the Colonel is _really_ dead this time – and there's no way we can tell _yet_, not even Wilson can... then it would be terribly treacherous to the Colonel's memory. Because he didn't want any killing or real Gestapo-like torture in our story."

"I agree," Baker spoke up. "With or without Colonel Hogan present, we'll have to finish the story in his spirit. Either to honour his final request, or to avoid major trouble when he wakes up."

"Allright, allright." Newkirk fell down on a stool and pulled over the notebook. "Let's make up some other interesting punishment for her then. Where were we?"

* * *

"Rise and shine, ladies! Time to get up!" Schultz rattled exaggeratedly with the keys hanging from his belt.

But from inside the cell came nothing but agonized moans.

Schultz's expression became worried. "What is the matter? Are you all sick?" He opened the cell-door and came in, carefully peering at each of the ladies in the semi-darkness. "Shall I call for a doctor?"

Groaning, Eva worked herself up into a sitting position. "Thanks, but don't bother, Schultz. It's just stiff muscles. We're not used to such hard labour, you know."

"Oh!" Schultz looked relieved. "Then you'd better get up quickly. The sooner you get back to work, the sooner those muscles will loosen up."

Denise moaned. "I'd rather have a French masseur do the job."

Schultz looked puzzled. "Are they good at cleaning, too?"

Linda yawned loudly. "Good in sorting out aching muscles, yes."

"Oh." Schultz frowned in thought. "We could ask my little friend LeBeau of course. He's French. And from what I understand, he has had a lot of different jobs before the war. Maybe masseur was one of them?"

Susan sat up quickly. "Leaving myself at the mercy of LeBeau?! Never!"

"Then you better get up," Schultz suggested. "Breakfast is served in the mess hall in ten minutes, and after you've done the dishes, you are to continue with cleaning the barracks. Only you – " He pointed at Susan. "Colonel Hogan wants to see you in his office, right after you finish the dishes."


	20. In heaven

"You lucky dog." Denise scowled with envy as she stashed yet another pile of plates on the shelf. "To get to be alone with the Colonel!"

Sue let out a sigh. The deep frown of worry that had creased her forehead since Schultz's announcement that morning hadn't left her face for an instant. "I'm not so sure it will be a pleasant encounter, Denise." Another sigh. "Perhaps it really was a stupid idea to publish that _"No Way Out"_ story. Especially since we're still in their power."

"Oh, come on. He won't harm you, you know that. You'll probably get a good scolding, and once that's done..." Denise's voice trailed off as she dreamily continued: "You know, one of my married friends insists that the making up after a fight makes for the best part of her marriage..."

Sue winced. "Denise, I _am_ married!"

"Oh. Of course." Denise sounded disappointed, but immediately she brightened again. "How about we trade places then? And I go to Colonel Hogan in your place. I wouldn't mind a good scolding – as long as I get to be with him!"

Linda hit her over the head with a soapy dish-cloth. "Get real, will you? How stupid do you think Hogan is?"

Denise resigned with a sigh.

"We'd better think of a way to speed up the cleaning of the barracks," Eva interjected. "Or we'll never get it done."

Linda raised her eyebrows. "Do we _want_ to get it done?"

"No!" Denise exclaimed with passion.

But: "Of course we want to," Eva explained. "It won't do the Kommandant's reputation much good if he wouldn't win this contest, would it? And we all know what that means: a train-ticket to Stalingrad, and Hogan's team is out of business. Can't have that."

"Mm. You may have a point," Linda admitted. "So what do you suggest?"

Eva picked up a handful of cutlery to dry. "Splitting up the work. Like an assembly-line. One of us goes around washing all the windows, another beats all the blankets and mattresses, another goes around dusting... That way you'll get a knack at your task, and it will go faster and faster. And you won't have to change equipment all the time either. That'd save time, too."

Sue nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. As long as I don't have to do the ceilings."

Linda shuddered. "No, I'd rather pass on the ceilings as well. You, Denise?"

Denise closed her eyes in abhorrence. "Never... If I only _think_ about those horrid spiders in my neck...!"

"Allright, I'll do the ceilings. On one condition," Eva bargained. "That I'll be excused from peeling the potatoes this afternoon. I'd rather have this job over and done with today."

"Deal!" the other three agreed unanimously, only too happy to get out of the most horrible part of their cleaning job.

xxx

"Now you remember _everything_!" Denise urged her friend as they were about to part. "I want to have a blow by blow description tonight."

Sue sighed. "I'd better get going. See what he wants."

"Good luck," Eva wished her.

"And don't let him push you around," was Linda's advice. "Remember that he's not real, so there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Linda!" Denise whined. "Don't say that! Of course he's for real! How couldn't he be?"

Another sigh from Susan. "Whatever one's opinion on the subject, he's real enough in this universe. I better go and see what he wants."

And as the others sauntered off to gather their cleaning equipment, poor Susan directed her hesitant steps towards barracks 2. She walked as slowly as she dared to, but still the fateful barracks-door was approaching way too fast for her comfort. And before she knew it, she stood right in front of it. A deep breath for courage... Another one... and then she raised her hand to knock on the door.

Too late. The door was already yanked open and she stood facing a seething Peter Newkirk.

"Lady or not, I'd like to punch you in the mouth, luv," he announced, voice hoarse with emotion.

"Newkirk, let her in," Sue heard from behind him.

But there was Carter, too, with eyes flashing. "You!" he accused bitterly. "You are a _traitor_! Telling us you're so sorry and you didn't know and all that! But even when you do know, you keep killing off the Colonel! Twice in a row now! Don't you have any honour, lady? Doesn't a promise mean _anything _to you at all? For you did promise not to do it again! And yet...!"

"Carter, let her in." It was Kinch coming up behind his two mates, opening the door further so she could come in. "The Colonel will deal with her. He's the one who got killed by her hand."

"But _we_'re the ones who get all the grief from it!" Newkirk protested.

"I know that. But the Colonel can handle it. Now step aside."

Glaring and glowering, the two men let her pass.

"The Colonel is waiting for you in his office," Kinch said evenly as he returned to his solitary cardgame.

It wasn't easy: passing through a small room full of upbraiding eyes. Sue was sure that if looks could kill, she would have been stone dead before she had reached the stove. Instead, it was just her knees shaking by the time she quietly knocked at Hogan's door.

"Come in," came the reply. He surely wasn't dead anymore; he sounded strong enough. And Sue hesitated, not sure if she could face him in all his strength, nor whether she could handle facing him while he still suffered from the side-effects of the story. _Her_ story. _Her_ doing.

"Come in, I said!"

Clearly, Hogan was getting impatient. She swallowed hard, pushed down the latch and entered. Glared after by twenty-eight eyes shooting daggers.

Inside, Hogan sat perched over a map. He looked up as she entered. "Ah, Mrs. Snooky... Susan."

"Good morning, sir," Susan wanted to reply respectfully. But an awful lump in her throat prevented her from uttering anything but a hoarse croak.

"Here, sit down, please," he offered as he quickly got up himself.

Susan did as she was told, confused by his friendly tone. She had expected to have her head blown off in a good scolding – at the very least – and yet here he was, all smiles and obligingness! What was he up to?!

"So... Susan..." He pushed the map aside and perched at the corner of his desk. Sue was sure Denise would have absolutely loved to have him this close, but expecting an angry tirade, _she_ found him far _too_ close for comfort.

"I think you know why I sent for you, right?"

Sue nodded mutely; she hardly dared to meet his eyes, let alone answer him. Here she was, in the company of the dashingly attractive Robert E. Hogan, and all she felt was guilt! Guilt over _killing him off_!

Hogan let out a sigh. "I'm not going to ask why you wrote this, for I don't expect your reasons to be any more satisfactory than the ones we've heard so far." He cocked his head. "Or are they?"

She shook her head in shame.

"I thought so. So instead I want to tell you something. You, and..." He gestured around him. "All those others who keep killing us off."

A silence, in which Susan finally found the courage to look up. And saw that Hogan's face was soft and dreamy, with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Colonel?" she prompted him carefully.

He focused again, and smiled, a sad, rueful smile. With – oddly enough – a tinge of longing.

"Susan... May I call you Susan?"

"Yes of course," Sue rushed out. As if he hadn't done so from the beginning. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all...

"Susan, you have killed me off several times by now. Do you know how that feels?"

Sue frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Have you ever died in your life?"

"Um... no. Not that I know of."

"But you have lost loved ones. Family. Friends." It wasn't even a question, and he was right of course. No living soul of her age could possibly insist they had never lost anyone dear to them to the claws of death.

"I've done both," Hogan continued. "I've died. More times than I care to count. And I've lost loved ones, too. Relatives, friends, colleagues..." His voice trailed away in memories, but he quickly recollected. "Let me tell you this from experience, Susan: losing a loved one is far worse than dying yourself."

Sue looked up in surprise. "It is?"

He nodded. "Dying is pretty much like falling asleep. True, sometimes after hours, days of agony, but dying itself is like finding a sudden peace. And I always have this same dream when I'm dead..."

Sue held her breath; Hogan's quiet voice had her totally spell-bound.

"I find myself in this beautiful garden. More like a park, a huge park. It's covered with flowers, in the most indescribable colours. The trees are always abloom, and yet their branches are loaded with the sweetest fruits as well. Birdsong fills the air, and there's a glittering, majestic waterfall, and there's light all around, and continuously shifting rainbows in the sky. Animals are frisking around wherever you look, and there's absolutely no shyness about them. The whole place just breathes _peace_, utter and complete peace. And there, waiting for me in those glorious fields, are all the friends and relatives and loved ones I've ever lost to death. Waiting for me, to laugh and to cry with me, to take me up in their midst again... But just as I happily reach out to take someone's hand to reunite with them... I realize that I'm back in this drab barracks, groaning as the blood painfully starts rushing through my veins again. And stiff as a poker, with all those muscles that were well on their way to set."

Sue paled at the mere thought of how that must feel.

But Hogan said: "So you see: dying – or being dead – is actually very pleasant. I'm not afraid to die for good, and finally be reunited with all those people I've lost on the way. But the problem is..." He paused and looked her straight in the eye in a way that made her shiver. "The problem is that I can't."

"You can't?" Sue echoed. She had been so enthralled by his story that she seemed to have lost every power of independent coherent thought.

"I can't," he repeated with emphasis. "Too many people depend on me here: my team, of course, but even the entire camp. Hundreds of men. What do you think would become of them if I wasn't here to keep Klink out of trouble?"

Slowly, Sue nodded. "Klink would be sent off to the Russian front in no time, and Stalag 13 would get a new Kommandant. And there's a fair chance that would mean the end of Hogan's Heroes."

"To say but the very least," Hogan agreed. "From what I've heard from escapees from other camps, there'd be a more than fair chance that another Kommandant wouldn't care one straw about the Geneva Convention. Do you know how many lives that might cost among the men of this camp? The men _I_ am responsible for?"

Sue nodded. "I've read about it."

"But that's just the practical side of it." Hogan heaved a sigh and averted his eyes for a moment. "There's another one: the emotional side. Remember what I said about losing a loved one being so much harder than dying yourself?"

Another nod from Sue.

"Susan, you have witnessed with your very own eyes how hard my men take it when I get killed. Back in the courtroom, remember?" (1)

Sue nodded speechlessly.

"Please..." He placed his hand on hers in his plea: "_Please_, Susan... And everyone out there... _Please_ stop doing this to my men. _Please_ give them no more of that agony and grief of having lost one of our team – no matter if it's me or someone else. They've had to go through that far too often already. Physical wounds can heal. But the emotional wounds that are again and again imposed upon them: the wounds of losing a friend... Those wounds go far deeper. I just cannot _bear_ to see my men suffering so much by the hand of insensitive authors who revel in the heart-breaking dramas they so selfishly create..."

There it was again: that clumpy lump in her throat that prevented the uttering of even a single word.

Hogan swallowed something, too, to continue in a slightly less stressed tone: "I won't ask you for a promise never to write something like that again; you've already proven that you aren't capable of keeping such promises anyway."

_Ouch... _

"But I do want to ask you to keep in mind what I told you today whenever you come up with one of those heart-wrenching ideas again. _Please_, think of what you're making my men go through! Do you think you are able to keep a promise like that?"

Sue nodded. "Yes, sir. I will."

"Good girl. Now..." He gave her hand a slight squeeze. "Now that I'm interrogating you anyway: what can you tell me about the Manhattan project?"

xxx

"He's not even yelling at her!" Newkirk pranced indignantly. "All they do is bloody talk! If _I_ had gotten my hands on her, then...!"

"I bet he's kissing her senseless," LeBeau muttered darkly. "You know what the Colonel is like. Some punishment..."

Carter pouted, too. "Yeah. She should at least get some _real_ punishment. Like that Groundwater woman when she tried to escape."

Kinch chuckled in his moustache as he put down a seven of hearts. "The delousing station has already been cleaned, Carter."

"Well, then perhaps..." Suddenly Carter fell silent, and at the same time his face lit up in a sudden excitement. "The delousing station, huh?" With an evil smirk he dashed to his footlocker, and after some rummaging around he held up a small jar in triumph.

"Perhaps _this_ will teach her a lesson!

* * *

.

(1) See: _Fanfic Court, part 2C: The Conclusion_


	21. Mysterious forces

"What's that?" Kinch asked appalled, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Don't tell me." Newkirk flicked the ash off his cigarette. "That's where you keep your collection of pet lice?"

"No, silly." Carter's grin stretched from one ear to the other. "But you're close. It's..."

"Pet flees then?" LeBeau suggested.

"No. It's a little invention of mine. Kind of a by-product to making magnesium pencils. I thought it might come in handy one day, so I decided to save it."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Very well, Carter. But what is it?"

Carter simply beamed. "It's itching powder! You guys want to try some? It's really powerful!"

Kinch held out his hands, and even physically backed away. "No, thanks, buddy. I think I'll pass."

"How about you, Louis? It's really good stuff; if you get it on your skin, even a tiny little bit, you'll be itchy for hours! Just can't stop scratching!"

"Carter, you don't have to bloody sell it to us!" But then the vastness of its possibilities hit him: "Blimey, Carter, you're a genius!"

Even Kinch was chuckling now. "Oh boy, that ought to be good! Imagine strewing some of that stuff down the neck of her overalls!"

"Or in their cots at night!" LeBeau had picked up on the mischievous spirit, too.

"And it's humorous, and totally harmless, so the Colonel can't have anything against it!" Newkirk declared.

"I wonder," Kinch mused. "Couldn't we use that stuff on the Germans as well?"

* * *

They were all startled by a strangled cough coming from the office. Carter was the first to realize what it meant: "The Colonel! He's back! He's alive again!"

No one listened to Wilson's hurried admonitions to take it easy on the Colonel; everybody just rushed into the office to see for themselves that their CO was safely back to life again.

"Welcome back, sir!" Newkirk beamed at a still somewhat hazy Hogan.

"Glad to see you alive, sir."

"Boy, they had us scared again..."

"Welcome home, sir. We missed you already."

"Same dream again, Colonel?"

"Good to have you back, sir!"

And finally Wilson managed to get in a word: "Colonel Hogan?" He pushed his way past the utterly relieved men from barracks 2, and knelt down by the lower bunk. "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Trainwrecked." Hogan groaned with annoyance. "How am I _supposed_ to feel when I've just woken up from the dead?!"

"Just doing my job." Wilson took Hogan's pulse, and gave him a quick once over. "Headache?"

"Like a sledge-hammer."

"Probably the cyanide; it'll have to wear off. I can give you some aspirin if you like, but I can't guarantee it will do you any good."

"Don't bother then." Hogan pushed himself up into a half sitting position. "And what are you guys all doing here? What is this: a funeral parlour?"

Kinch smiled. "We're leaving, Colonel, we're leaving." He pushed everyone out the door, and then turned back to Hogan who was still struggling to sit up properly.

"Glad to have you back with us, sir."

xxx

Half an hour later Hogan strode into the common room as if nothing had ever happened. "Any coffee left?"

Newkirk jumped up. "Let me get you a cup, sir. It's quite fresh; Kinch made it only ten minutes ago."

"Good." Hogan sat down at the table, and soon he was nipping steaming hot coffee. "So what's happened while I was out?"

"Nothing much, sir." Kinch spoke calmly. "We've continued with the story. We all agreed that we should avenge your death, and though the ideas of how to do so varied enormously, in the end everyone settled for the responsible author having a serious talk with you."

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "With me?! Was it one of the four ladies we have in our custody then?"

"Indeed, sir. It was Mrs. Snooky who killed you off again."

"Hm. A thick-skulled lady that is. So what did we talk about?"

"You better read it yourself, sir." Newkirk passed the notebook across the table to Hogan, and for a few minutes the Colonel read in silence.

"Not bad," he complimented at last. "Not bad at all. Perhaps with these tactics we'll finally get through to them. Let's hope so. Only – did you _have_ to put those near-death experiences in?"

"We thought it would give them an idea of how hard it is to come back to a place like this every time," LeBeau explained.

"And it's true, isn't it?" Carter pointed out. "We've all had those dreams at one time or another: whenever they had us killed. I mean, it's not like we're making it all up to make them feel bad!"

"Allright, allright." Then Hogan let out a chuckle. "But that itching powder is a mighty good idea!"

Carter beamed with embarrassment. "It is?"

"Absolutely. Still, first we'll have to deal with the interrogation about the Manhattan project. Your itching powder can wait a while."

"Do you think she's going to reveal to us what the Manhattan project is, Colonel?" a curious Kinch inquired.

"No." Hogan seemed totally unconcerned.

"What?! But she's from the future! She's bound to know what it is!" the men protested.

Hogan had a chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure she knows allright. But she's not going to tell us."

"Perhaps I should drop some of that itching powder down her neck right now," Carter suggested. "I'm sure it'll work great as a harmless torturing device as well. To get people to talk."

"Maybe. But I assure you, Carter: this time it won't work. Not even a large dose of truth serum will get Mrs. Snooky to spill the secret. Here, let me show you."

* * *

"Susan, what can you tell me about the Manhattan project?"

"Um..." Sue blushed. She did know what the Manhattan project was, but...

"Have you heard of it?" Hogan tried.

"Yes. Yes, of course I've heard of it."

"Well then, what is it?"

Susan opened her mouth. And closed it again. What could she tell him? Better: what _should_ she tell him: a man from the past? "Um... are you sure you are entitled to know this?" After all, stalling might help her to figure this one out.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not? You know about it, don't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"So why shouldn't I be allowed to know about it?"

"Because..." A deep breath. "Because you're still living in history. And I learned about this in history _class_. That's a huge difference."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

Sue regarded him with private amusement. "Sure. That's what you tell Klink, too, whenever he spills some secret to you."

Hogan chuckled. "Touché. But really," he turned on his charm together with his considerable persuasive powers. "Would it make such a difference to history if you just told me what it's about? I mean, I'm not asking for dates or details; I'd just like to know what we're risking our lives for here. And what the heck it was you had me commit suicide for. Is that too much to ask?"

Susan remained silent as all the science fiction stories she'd ever read flashed through her mind. Would her giving him such intelligence – such a tiny little fact – really alter the course of history? If there was _anyone_ whose secrecy she relied on – next to Mr. Darcy's of course – it was Colonel Hogan's. So would it really matter if she told him?

'No,' she decided, and took a deep breath. "You're right. I do think you have a right to know. At least something; the basic facts."

He watched her with barely concealed anticipation.

"But you must vow _never _to reveal this information to _anyone_ until after the project is completed. Not even to your men."

"You have my word." He even forgot the obligatory 'as an officer and a gentleman'.

"Allright." Sue took another deep breath, and quenched her last considerations on whether she was about to become guilty of irrevocably altering the course of history or not. "The Manhattan project is..." She closed her mouth and tried again: "It is..."

"Yes, what?" Hogan demanded eagerly.

Susan opened her mouth. And closed it again. She reminded him much of a goldfish out of its bowl: open, close, open, close...

"Well?" Hogan urged.

She shook her head. Sadly. "I can't. I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Colonel."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?! You said you know what it is!"

"I do. But I still can't tell you."

Hogan was getting a little frustrated here. "Why on earth not? You said yourself you thought we have a _right_ to know! So what made you change your mind again?"

"I didn't. I haven't changed my mind; I really think you deserve to know. But there's something stronger than me that prevents me from saying it."

He looked at her incredulously.

"It's true! I can't help it, it's not my fault!" Susan pleaded close to tears. "I so wish I _could_ tell you, but somehow I can't utter the words! Something – some force – is stopping me!"

No matter how corky it sounded, Hogan realized that she was speaking the truth. For some reason she really _couldn't_ say it. "Perhaps you can write it down," he suggested, and pulled out a pencil and a sheet of paper.

Sue took the pencil, and bent down over the paper. And Hogan watched her again, in tense anticipation. But the pencil rested on the paper, not making a single move, while Susan's face clearly showed the desperate determination of jotting something down. Something. _Anything_.

But finally she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan. I really am. But I can't. That strong something won't let me transport the words from my brain onto the paper. It's like they get stuck as soon as they reach my elbow."

"Perhaps drawing could do the trick?" he caught at a last straw.

She tried with all her might, but the pencil refused to move. So she dropped it. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I really would have told you if I could. But I'm afraid... Apparently it's impossible."

* * *

"Boy, that was creepy, Colonel!" Carter breathed with excitement.

"I didn't know you had it in you, sir," Kinch remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

Hogan grimaced, and Carter insisted: "Where do you think that force comes from that won't allow her to tell us what she knows?"

"That's easy, Carter." Hogan put down the pencil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That force derives from us. We are the ones writing the story. So _we_ are the ones giving Susan her lines. Then how can we let her tell us something that we don't know ourselves?"


End file.
